


Best Friend's Little Sister - Version One

by notsoinnocent13



Series: Best Friend's Little Sister [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Musicians, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-02-28 22:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 33,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsoinnocent13/pseuds/notsoinnocent13
Summary: What's the worst that could happen when Freddie's little sister gets involved in the band? Roger Taylor, that's what.This story will follow several snapshots over several years as we follow the relationship between Roger Taylor and his best friend's little sister.





	1. April 12th, 1970

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Best Friend's Little Sister - Version Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319950) by [notsoinnocent13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsoinnocent13/pseuds/notsoinnocent13). 



> Let me preface by saying these are totally fictionalized versions of the real people and concoctions of my imagination heavily inspired by Bohemian Rhapsody and Roger Taylor's 1977 single, "I Wanna Testify". The time frame for the relationship basically replaces Roger's time in real life that he spent with Josephine Morris (nothing against her, just for the story I like writing the earlier years of Queen). Also I am aware that Freddie Mercury has a sister in real life but this is not based off her and any resemblances are purely coincidental.
> 
> Version One has everything: fluff, slight smut, and plenty of angst, but also a conclusion that will leave no one guessing what happens. Read this version if you're looking for a story that follows the love and heartbreak of real life, where nothing is guaranteed.

     The bells above the door chime. I perk my head up, noticing my brother strut towards me, his hair swaying with each step. I scoot out from behind the counter, wiping my hands on the back of my pants. “Freddie, did she send you to check on me?” I ask, not putting it above my mother to send my brother to chaperone me at work. “I swear that woman is going to watching over my shoulder until I get married,” I sigh, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

     “Probably even then,” Freddie jokes. My gaze falls from Freddie to the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen, looking like he just walked right out of a magazine from the sunglasses perched atop his dark blonde hair to his clear blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes to his full lips pursed in a pout. “This is Roger,” Freddie declares, clasping his hand on the blonde’s shoulder, drawing my attention back to my brother.

     I offer a smile to the Adonis in front of me, hoping he didn’t notice my staring. “Ah, the drummer, nice to meet you,” I return, shaking my brother’s new band and flat mate’s hand. “Cool rings,” I compliment, turning his hand over in mine to get a better look at the multiple adornments decorating his hand.

     Roger reveals a dazzling smile, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners, “Thanks, love, got them at the shop,” he says, “if you want to come by some time, I’m sure I could find some that suit you, I’ve got a gift,” he tells me, his eyes, not subtly, scanning me. I drop my gaze to our intertwined hands, blood rushing to my cheeks.

     Freddie laughs loudly, Roger quickly dropping my hand. “Oh, Y/N’s not the jewelry type, I mean despite my best efforts she won’t wear anything I try to put her in.”

     I scoff, scooting around the pair to grab a discarded cup from a stand. “Your taste is just a little eccentric for me, Freddie,” I say, tossing the cup in the trash bin by the front door.

     He rolls his eyes dramatically, “I tried to put you in one pair of platforms and lost all trust,” he says, extending his arms out for dramatic flair.

     “It wasn’t the platforms, it was the floor length fur coat,” I counter, raising my eyebrows.

     “It looked great on you,” He argues. 

     I scoff again, rolling my eyes at my brother’s definition of great. “Yeah right, I looked ridiculous!” I declare, moving behind the counter. I grab a handful of candy bars, setting them into the display on the counter.

     Roger leans forward on the counter, handing me a candy bar and a pack of cigarettes. “I doubt even Fred’s concoctions could do that,” Roger interjects. I enter the prices, the cash register popping open with a ding.

     “Either way, you know mama and papa would’ve killed you if I came home in something like that, mama hates my pants,” I laugh, subconsciously tugging on the hem of my shirt to cover more of the high waisted corduroy pants that I bought a few months ago.

     “That’s a parent’s job, my parents are horrified by my choice in clothing,” Roger says as he hands me a tenner, his hand lingering against mine. I pull away, sorting the bill away and getting his change, dropping the coins into his open palm, pushing his purchase towards him.

     Freddie bumps his shoulder into Roger, “Everyone’s horrified by your taste in clothing, you’re color blind.”

     “No, I’m not,” Roger defends, sliding the coins into his impossibly tight pant pocket.

     “Fine, just plain blind,” Freddie counters. I watch the pair argue back and forth until the door chimes. I squeeze past the pair to assist the customer in finding the right brand of pain relief.

     When I return to the counter, Freddie and Roger are gone, a note left on the counter for me, the words written in unfamiliar handwriting, the letters extending into each other.

_ Call me if you want to take me up on my offer, Roger. _


	2. May 27th, 1970

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their first encounter, Roger keeps finding reasons to shop at the local convenience store.

     The door chimes open, heavy footsteps growing closer and closer. “Hey, Roger,” I greet, looking up at him, his figure looming over me.

     “Hey,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it disappears almost as quickly as it had appeared.

     I pat the empty space next to me, raising my eyebrows at the obviously upset drummer. Roger lightly huffs, bending down and folding his legs underneath himself, his shoulder bumping into mine. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, glancing past his shoulder to make sure we’re still alone in the aisle.

     “Mike isn’t going to work out,” he murmurs, reaching across my legs to pick up a candy bar. “He’s a great player, it just isn’t right for us,” he continues as he tears open the package, taking a large bite out of the chocolate. He holds it out to me, silently offering me a bite while he chews. I shake my head, poking out my tongue to display the wad of bubblegum I’ve been chewing for the past hour. Roger chews thoughtfully, fiddling with the plastic wrapper. “We decided on a name though,” he mumbles, his lips darting out between his lips to capture a rogue piece of chocolate. “Queen,” he states, his eyes locked on mine.

     “Queen,” I repeat, furrowing my eyebrows. “As in Her Majesty?” I chuckle. Roger shakes his head, laughing along with me. “What’s wrong with Smile?”

     He shrugs his shoulders, taking another bite, this time albeit significantly smaller. “It was your brother’s idea, start fresh and move forward,” he explains.

     As Roger finishes his candy bar, I let my mind wander. “Won’t people expect a band named queen to be a girl’s group?” I say, grabbing the box of unopened candy bars and stocking them in their slots on the shelf.

     “We plan on being unexpected through every step of the journey, wherever Queen takes us,” he tells me, his smile quickly returning to his face, both on his chocolate stained lips and his ocean blue eyes. Roger hands me another box from behind my back, taking half of the contents and putting them away for me. I shelve the last candy bar, bracing my hands against the cool tile of the floor to push myself up. Roger quickly stands up, following behind me. I discard the empty cardboard boxes behind the counter and put the break sign on the counter, alerting customers to ring the bell if they need assistance. 

     Roger holds open the door, the bells ringing as it swings shut behind me. I lead Roger around the side of the building, stopping just before the oversized garage door used for our weekly deliveries.

     “I can already see Queen written on billboards and tickets across the world,” I say, letting myself fall backwards until my shoulder blades touch the brick wall behind me.

     “Can you now?” Roger chuckles, fishing around in his pockets. He removes a carton of cigarettes, tapping the bottom of the box.

     “Can’t you?” I ask, watching his nimble fingers draw out a single cigarette and place it carefully between his lips.

     “Yeah, I can,” he mumbles around the cigarette. He lights the end of the stick, the white paper coming to life with the flame. His chest moves with each inhale and exhale, the bud quickly dwindling. “Come to the first show,” he whispers, holding out the cigarette to me.

     I carefully take the thin item, trying to force my hand not to shake, holding it to my lips. I inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs until it burns. The scent of nicotine fills my nose, forcing a cough as I exhale, Roger’s hand coming to rest on my back, lightly patting as I straighten up. “When is it?” 

     Roger takes the cigarette back from me, inhaling once more before dropping it to the ground and stomping it out with him shoe. “June twenty seventh at the Truro City Hall,” he tells me, knocking his head towards the street. I move around him, rounding the corner and entering the store. “Mike’s going to play bass until we can find someone else.”

     “I will ask for the night off,” I say, placing the break sign back under the counter. “Can I make signs, like the sports players fans do?” I ask as I grab a box of Roger’s favorite cigarettes and place them on the counter.

     “How are you a fan, you’ve never even heard us,” Roger laughs, setting a bill on the counter and taking the carton, the small box now wedged deep within the pocket of his jeans.

     I slide the bill into the register, leaning forward on the counter. “I know my brother, and I know he would never attach himself to something anything less than amazing,” I shrug. “Plus, I know from personal experience, that the drummer is pretty good at what he does,” I whisper like it’s a secret. Roger leans forward, raising his eyebrows in question. “You’re always tapping something,” I explain, glancing down at Roger’s hands, silently tapping out a beat against the counter. Roger blushes, quickly shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.


	3. June 27th, 1970

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Queen's first show and Freddie's little sister is sad that she can't attend. Just overall story and relationship building.

     I push open the front door, the chaos of Freddie’s new band covering every inch of his apartment. I carefully step around discarded clothing, plopping down on the couch. “So is her majesty ready to perform?” I tease, watching Freddie try to decide between two shirts.

     “Can’t rush perfection,” he declares, holding another shirt up against his body, changing poses in front of the full length mirror propped against the wall.

     “I wish I could come,” I sigh, watching Roger move around the apartment, his drumsticks poking out of his back pocket. As he passes me, I grab the set, holding them out for him. He offers a silent thank you as he drops to the ground, shuffling some records around.

     Brian drops onto the couch next to me. “We could sneak you in,” he offers, bumping his shoulder against mine.

     I smile at the tall guitarist, “Thanks for the offer, but not going to risk it, the last thing I need right now is to be grounded, I’m so close to being free.”

     “How many long again?” Brian asks, stealing a blueberry from my bowl. Roger snakes his hand between the two of us, grabbing a strawberry. I watch him place the strawberry between his lips, taking a large bite, more than half of the strawberry gone. The juice tinting his lips red, a drop slipping out of the corner of his mouth. I move to wipe it away, but Brian knocks into me, waiting for my answer.

     I roll my eyes, offering the bowl over to him. “216 days, AKA 215 too many.”

     “Don’t count, it’ll only make time pass slower,” Freddie says, tugging down his shirt, one stolen from our mother’s closet.

     “You literally had a calendar that you marked off until you had enough money to move out.”

     He rolls his eyes at me, taking the bowl from my hands, popping multiple berries into his mouth, chewing carefully. “Which is exactly why I know it only makes time pass slower,” he pointed says. “Just enjoy being a teenager.”

     “If you say the real world is tough, I will make it so you aren’t able to perform tonight,” I threaten, pointing my fork at my brother. Roger barks out a laugh from the kitchen.  
Freddie takes a dramatic step backwards, “Keep her away from me,” he says, gazing at his reflection over his shoulder.

     “We gotta go anyway, got to set up,” Brian says, pushing himself off the couch. Brian opens the door, holding it open. Freddie ducks towards me, placing a quick kiss on the top of my head before rushing outside to the parked van. 

     Roger wanders out of the kitchen, trailing behind Brian out the door. “Kick ass tonight, guys,” I say just before the door closes. I wait to hear the van start up and drive away, the telltale sound of rattling disappearing. I get off the couch, retrieving my bowl from the bookshelf, eating the few remaining berries. I set the bowl back down, bending to the floor to pick Freddie’s discarded wardrobe choices. I carry the pile back to his room, putting everything away. I look around, grabbing a few remnants of trash and discard of them. I scan the living room, searching for something to do, anything that could keep me from returning home. Records are scattered around the room. Moving around, I pick up records and slide them back into their covers, putting the stack next to the bookshelf. I notice there’s a record already set up in the player so I drop the needle and let the music fill the room. A slow and steady beats grows louder and louder, a voice singing about love guides me around the living room, letting me imagine what it would be like to live alone, something that fills my dreams nightly.

     The album starts to skip, so I move to the turntable and flip it over, then drop the needle again, the same singer starts another story about a different love. I sit on the couch, swinging my legs over the arm, the soft leather comforting against my exposed skin, lulling me to sleep.

     “You’re still here?” A voice calls. I sit up, looking over my legs. Roger stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob.

      I swing my legs off the arm of the couch, letting them rest on the floor. “Yeah, I wanted to hear how it went,” I say, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

     “Eh,” Roger walks towards me, dropping to the couch, taking up the space next to me, letting his head fall backwards until it hits the back of the couch.

     “Eh?” I question, poking his arm.

     His face scrunches, “Something’s missing,” he murmurs, “we need something more,” he says, turning his head slightly, his gaze on me. “Any ideas?”

     I shake my head. “No, but I know the feeling,” I admit, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back. “Where’s Freddie?” I ask, turning my head to face Roger.

     He sighs, exhaustion evident in his voice, “Mary and him are celebrating.”

     “Brian?” I ask, glancing at the door.

     “Went home,” Roger says. Roger looks at me, watching for a few seconds before looking around the room. “Did you clean?” Roger asks.

      I shrug, “Yeah, just to kill time.”

      Roger lets his eyes close, his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids. In the moonlight, his features look even more beautiful, if that’s even possible. “You should be getting home, it’s late,” he whispers, not opening his eyes. “Do you want me to walk you?” He asks, opening his eyes when I move to get off the couch.

      I shake my head, “It’s just a few blocks, I’ll be fine.” I tell him, although part of me wishes he would, just to have a few more minutes to talk to him, but there’s no telling if he’d be able to stay away for the entire walk. “Goodnight, Roger,” I say, wishing that I could stay instead of returning home to answer questions of where I’ve been and why I’d rather hang out at Freddie’s instead of at home.

     “Night, Y/N.”


	4. October 23rd, 1970

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen has slowly been gaining momentum with Y/N along for the ride at all the London shows.

     Roger jumps off the stage, leaving Freddie and Barry alone, the latter’s face showing his annoyance with Roger doing so. “Well?” Roger questions, shaking his head to try and get his hair out of his face. His attempt to do so fails, the dark blonde strands that make up his bangs are darker than normal, cememented to his forehead with sweat.

     “I think Barry’s finally getting used to my brother,” I joke, leaning around Roger to see Freddie wildly waving his arms while the bassist absentmindedly nods along to whatever Freddie’s trying to convince him of.

     Roger chuckles, drawing my attention back to him. “I think I am too,” he jokes, knocking his shoulder into mine. 

     I trail behind Roger, swatting his back as he moves towards the bar. “Oh stop it, you love Freddie or you would’ve killed him by now,” I call to him over the next band warming up for their set. “Trust me, I would know,” I mumble to myself.

     “Drink?” Roger asks, holding open the door, the cool breeze of the night hitting me like a ton of bricks. Roger slings his jacket around my shoulders, buttoning it in the middle to secure it.

     “Just water, thanks,” I mumble, savoring the scent of Roger engulfing me. 

     Roger chuckles, slowing down his stride to walk in step with me. “You know, I won’t tell if you want something stronger,” he whispers, dramatically glancing around as if checking for spies.

     “No, but I can feel Freddie’s glare on my back,” I tell him, gesturing behind me. Sure enough, Freddie is a few steps behind us, still talking animatedly to Barry with Brian trailing just behind them, his guitar case swinging from his long arm. “Just water,” I tell Roger, ducking under his arm to enter the bar.


	5. February 19th, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Y/N's 18th birthday and she chooses to celebrate by seeing Queen perform.
> 
> Mentions of drinking and smoking, and alluding to sex.

     The lights are low and the room reeks of liquor and smoke, and it couldn’t make me happier. “Please allow me to buy you your first legal drink,” Roger says, raising his hand to catch the bartender’s attention.

     “Thanks, Roger,” I smile, happily accepting whatever he orders me.

     “Don’t thank me yet, wait until you open your present,” he says, handing me a small box with a blue ribbon tied around it.

     I take it from him, holding the small package in front of my hand. “You didn’t have to,” I say, looking up at him.

     “Trust me,” he says, placing his hands around me, the calluses on his palms rubbing against my skin. He pulls his hands away and gestures for me to open it. I tug on the ribbon. I set the ribbon on the bar, opening the lid to reveal a delicate chain with an amethyst attached to it.

     I pull the necklace out of the box, wrapping the chain around my hand to inspect it closer. “It’s beautiful, thank you,” I say, shifting closer to Roger. He looks at me, his eyes shining even in the dark light of the room. They flicker to my lips, even for just a second, before a high pitched voice drawing Roger’s attention.

     “Hey, Roger,” a tall blonde woman says, coming to stand partially in front of me.

     “Cheryl,” Roger greets, his eyes meeting mine over her shoulder.

     She chuckles, stretching her arm to rest her hand on his shoulder, curling a section of his hair around her manicured finger, “Candice,” she corrects.

     I quietly snort, shaking my head at him. “Right, sorry, you know, shit hearing, drummer and all,” he says, offering his usual charming smile.

     She laughs again, too perfect to be real, much like the rest of her, “Well, looking forward to seeing you perform tonight,” she calls, letting her hand linger for a moment longer before moving into the crowd.

     “Who knew you had an actual fan?” I tease, watching her figure retreat closer to the stage.

     “Doubt it, I know her from school,” he shrugs. The bartender places a colorful cocktail in front of me, a cherry floating on the top. I grab the cherry by the stem and pop it in my mouth, the sweetness of the cherry contrasted by the bitterness of the alcohol it had absorbed. I reach for the glass, letting the liquor coat my throat, burning as it goes down. Once no more liquid comes, I set the glass down on the bar.

     “Damn,” Roger chuckles, pushing his glasses to rest on the top of his head. He raises his hand, beckoning the bartender for another. He comes back setting two in front of us. I knock back one, Roger sipping on the other. Freddie pushes through the club, making a beeline for us.

     “Is this your doing?” Freddie questions, looking pointedly at the empty glasses.

     I laugh, taking Roger’s forgotten drink and knocking it back. “How else should I celebrate being legal?”

     “Not with alcohol poisoning,” Freddie says, motioning to the bartender to cut me off.

     Roger clasps Freddie’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, Fred, I’m watching her.”

     Freddie scoffs, eyeing me. “And who’s going to watch her while we’re on stage?”

    “There’s only five people here other than us, I don’t think we have to worry about losing her,” Roger argues. Freddie stands his ground, his gaze piercing. “She can hang backstage,” Roger says, his eyes staying on me.

     “No, I want to see you guys perform,” I whine, my practiced pout exaggerated by my deep lipstick.

     Roger looks at me, taking the empty glass from my hand before I manage to drop it. “You can see from the side,” he says, “it’s a better seat, trust me, no one to push you and spill drinks on you.”

     “Come on, let’s go find you a chair and a good view,” Freddie says, linking his arm with mine, pulling me off my bar stool. He weaves us through the crowd, Roger’s blonde hair disappearing from my view. Freddie pulls me backstage, having a stagehand look for a chair for me. He returns with one, placing it right at the edge of the stage. Freddie pushes me into the chair, and my anger lessens when I realize I can see the whole stage from my spot.

     “Thanks, Freddie,” I say, gripping onto his hand.

     “Anything for you,” he says, placing a gentle kiss to the back of my hand. Freddie drops his hand to my shoulder, looking out past the stage to the growing crowd.

     I turn my gaze to the stage, watching Brian fiddle with his guitar, his fingers dancing along the fret of his homemade masterpiece. “I told them I’m moving out today,” I whisper.

     “What?”

     I tilt my head up at my brother. “I got a place above work, it’s small, but it’s mine.”

     “I’m proud of you,” he says, his smile growing. “You know I’m always here for you.”

     I nod my head, “I do.” Freddie places a kiss on the top of my head with a hushed birthday wish. “Don’t you dare cry, Freddie, you’ve got a show to put on,” I chuckle, pushing at his back. He chuckles, stepping onstage and moving his microphone around.

     A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, drawing my attention from Freddie. “Congrats,” Roger says, looking down at me.

     “Good luck,” I tell him, watching him move past me to set up at his kit. He takes a seat at his drums, tinkering with the cymbals, sparing a glance over at me. A high pitched call of his names drawing both of our attentions, a group of girls giggling and waving. He offers them a nod of his head and a smirk. My stomach sinks a little. I turn my attention away from them and focus on Freddie. He speaks into the microphone, welcoming the crowd. The crowd cheers, some raising their glasses, a few lighters in the air. Roger starts the song, leading the way with every hit of his drums, Brian lighting up the crowd with every note of his guitar. The bassist follows along, but cowers whenever Freddie nears him with his moves while singing, almost stepping off stage at one point. They finish up their set, earning a roar from the small crowd jam packed into the bar, Freddie thanking everyone for coming. They all exit, trailing after each other, moving out to the crowd. Mary weaves her way through the crowd, throwing her arms around Freddie’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. Brian and the guitarist are swarmed by a group of girls. I stand up and follow, but stop, seeing Roger standing in the door frame, a cigarette between his lips.

     “Not in the party mood tonight?” I ask, taking the lit cigarette from his fingers and taking a deep inhale. I pass it back to him. He pauses, his eyes flickering to the dark red lipstick stain now on his cigarette.

     “It’s my turn to pack up,” he says around his cigarette. He bends down to grab a speaker.

     I grab another speaker, following behind him, “I’ll help,” I say. He opens the back of his van, sitting on the edge, taking a long inhale, offering it to me. “It was a really great show.”

     “He’s scared of Freddie,” Roger huffs, rolling his eyes.

     “What? No, he’s not, okay, yeah, he almost fell on me trying to stay out of his way,” I laugh, bumping into Roger. Roger chuckles, knocking into my shoulder, a little too hard, sending me forward out of the van. Roger’s arm shoots out, catching me by my waist, pulling me towards him, his other braced behind him to steady us. I exhale heavily, chuckling. My nose lightly bumps his, my eyes looking to his, realizing how close we are, closer than we’ve ever been.

     “You okay?” He asks, his breath hot on my cheek.

     “Yeah,” I breathe, my hand resting on his arm. His grip on my waist tightens, one of my legs intertwining with his. I lean forward, our lips ghosting against each others.

     “This isn’t-You’re-” Roger whispers, the air a mixture of our breathing and the distance sounds of club music.

     “Not your type?” I laugh, picturing Cheryl, or Candice, or Cate, or whatever the hell tall, blonde, and leggy’s name was.

     Roger sits up, readjusting his arm around my waist to keep me from fall backwards out of the van. “Freddie’s little sister, I mean hell, it’s your eighteenth birthday,” he rushes out, exhaling heavily.

     I swing my leg over Roger’s hips, letting my knee come to rest on the carpet of the van’s floor, lacing my fingers together behind Roger’s neck, gently toying with the hair at the base of his neck. “Actually, it’s after midnight, it’s not my birthday anymore,” I say, looking at my watch. Roger follows my gaze, the time well after two am. He looks back up at me, starting to open his mouth, but shake my head. “I know, and I know you, Roger Taylor, and I know you like me,” I tell him, curling his hair around my finger like Candice had done earlier. “In fact, I think you have since the day you met me,” I whisper, thinking back to the day Freddie introduced us almost a year ago. “I know I have,” I say, watching Roger’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. “Why else do you come in three times a week to get cigarettes, only when it’s my shift, I asked,” I say, pointedly looking at Roger. He inhales deeply, leaning forward slightly, looking over my shoulder. “Roger, tell me no and I’ll leave,” I say, drawing his gaze back to me.

     He unwinds my hands from behind his neck. I sigh, moving to get off of him. “You never put it on,” he says, holding my hand in his, tracing the chain wrapped against my palm. He holds the stone carefully in his hand, unwinding the chain from my hand, the pattern of the chain indented in my skin. He raises my hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the palm, holding my hand to his cheek.

     “Put it on for me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

     “If you promise to never take it off,” he says, pulling me towards him.


	6. March 1st, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two weeks since they got together but they still haven't told anyone. John's just joined the band so Roger's in a good mood.

     “I think he’s the one,” Roger says, twirling one drumstick in his left hand, his right intertwined with mine, drawing circles against the back of it with his thumb.

     I chuckle, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Wow, Roger Taylor, a romantic,” I tease, knowing exactly just how romantic he can be when he wants to be.

     He turns on his side, propping himself up. “I’m serious, we all get along, he’s a great bass player,” he says, his face lighting up.

     “So you really think you found the missing sound, nay the missing element of all that is Queen, in the form of electric engineering student, John Deacon?” I finish for him. He nods, falling back to his back, his lips forming into a small grin. I push myself up, swinging my leg over his body, “Well, this calls for a celebration,” I whisper, placing a quick kiss to his nose. I sit up, pulling my sleep shirt off in one swift move, tossing it to the corner of my room.

     “I love your way of celebrating,” he chuckles, pulling me to him by the back of my neck. “I love-” he starts, burying himself in my neck, scattering kisses, surely leaving marks that I’ll have to cover up for my shift later.

     “Roger?” I breathe out as he continues his assault on my neck and collarbone. “I love this,” I whisper, pulling away to find his lips. “Us,” I say against his plush pink lips, swollen from earlier.

     “You,” he exhales into my mouth as he deepens the kiss.

     He pulls back, moving back to my chest, moving down, following a path of marks, a combination of old and new. “Me?” I ask. He hums against my skin, sucking lighting right above my belly button, playing with the hem of my shorts. “Me too,” I sigh, laying back, my head falling onto my pillow.


	7. July 2nd, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie catches onto Y/N's secret and it's John's first performance with Queen

     “Mercury?” I exclaim, follow Freddie as he weaves down the street, avoiding colliding with the other pedestrians.

     He looks at me over his shoulder, “Yes, I think it’s fitting.”

     “They’re going to kill you,” I say, imagining the scene waiting for Freddie when he tells our parents, which may or may not end in someone’s death.

     “It’s my life,” he says simply, crossing the alleyway, opening a gritty door. I trail behind him, ducking under his arm and stepping into the dimly lit bar. “You should take a note and finally come clean.”

     “What do you mean, Freddie?”

     He clicks his tongue, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “You have a boyfriend,” he states.

     I scoff, pushing his arm off me. “You’re as ridiculous as your new name, Mr. Mercury,” I tell him, hoping it’s believable.

     “Tell that to the lovebites you’ve been hiding all week with those ridiculous turtlenecks,” he says, pulling at the top of my shirt. “So, what’s the problem? Race, age, profession?” He questions. I mentally check off all three because Roger definitely isn’t what my parents would’ve hoped for me.

     I laugh it off, making my way to the bar. “There’s no one, Freddie,” I say, waving my hand to grab the bartender’s attention.

     Freddie hops onto the bar stool next to me, propping his chin in hands to stare at me. “Are you having one night stands?” He whispers dramatically.

     “No, Freddie, have some decency,” I whisper, slapping his arm.

     The bartender places my drink in front of me, the dark amber liquid sloshing against the sides as I pick it up. Freddie sits up straight, looking around the bar. “Not that I’m encouraging them, but the boys seem quite fond of them, and the girls always seem to leave happy,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

     “All of them?” I ask, pausing my glass at my lips.

     “Yes, why?” He questions, tilting his head.

     I shake my head, setting my drink back down. “No, just thought that Brian had a girlfriend,” I say, knowing very well that Chrissy dumped him weeks ago.

     Freddie shakes his head, “They broke up weeks ago.”

     “One night stands aren’t my thing,” I say, sipping on my drink. The liquor burns but not as much as the thought of Roger sleeping around with groupies.

     “So it is a boyfriend!” Freddie exclaims, drawing the attention of the few other people in the bar. He leans forward, his face growing serious, “Or is a girlfriend? It’s legal now,” he whispers.

     “Girlfriend?” Roger questions, suddenly appearing over my shoulder.

     “Or boyfriend,” Freddie clarifies, “Y/N is seeing someone and won’t admit to it.”

     Roger chuckles, snaking his arm behind my back, his hand stopping to rest on the bar top. “What makes you think she’s seeing someone, Fred?”

     Freddie scoffs, as if the things he picks up on are the most obvious things in the world. He gestures to me, “She’s been wearing turtlenecks all week,” he says. “To cover hickeys, Roger, keep up,” Freddie adds, snapping his fingers at Roger. “Do I know them?” He asks, his attention back on me.

     “Freddie, let it go.”

     “Does Mary know?” He pesters. He should know better that anything I want to keep secret from him, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell Mary.

     I push myself off my bar stool, bumping into Roger in the process, spilling a bit of my drink onto his shoe, his hand coming to rest on my waist to steady me. He quickly lets go, stepping out of my way. “There’s nothing to know, it’s none of your business, Freddie!” I yell, storming off. I down the rest of my drink, setting the empty glass on a table, pushing out the door and into the alleyway. I pat down my pockets, searching for my lighter and spare cigarette, stolen out of one of Roger’s packs.

     “So, about your secret girlfriend,” Roger starts, leaning against the brick wall next to me. He holds out an unlit cigarette to me, his lighter in his other hand.

     I put the paper between my lips, bending over to light it. I inhale deeply, resting by back against the wall. “Roger, you may be the prettiest guy on the planet, but I don’t think you count,” I say as I exhale a cloud of smoke.

     Roger picks the cigarette from my fingers, bringing it to his lips. “We should just tell him,” he suggests.

     “No, it’s fine, just be more careful where you leave your marks, I had to go and buy a new turtleneck today.”

     Roger shakes his head, scoffing, “It’s not just that, Y/N, I want to be able to take you out and hold your hand and kiss you in public without worrying who’s going to see and that your brother will find out,” he says, intertwining his hand with mine, holding the cigarette up for me. I inhale and exhale, hoping to ready my racing heart.

     “Roger, I want that too,” I whisper, his face lighting up. “But, Freddie may be your band mate, but he doesn’t think the best of you, for one, he thinks you’re shagging groupies after every show,” I say, watching his face drop.

     “Is that what you’re calling yourself now?” He whispers, placing a kiss on my cheek.

     “No, it’s what Freddie said about you and the others, all your crazy one night stands.”

     “Love,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave, the way does whenever he’s apologizing.

     “No, I know you’re not, but saying ‘Hey, Fred, I’m not sleeping with groupies, just your sister,” isn’t going to go over well,”

     “I’d hope you’d use a little more tact than that,” Brian laughs. He pokes his head out the door, his hair coming into view a good moment before his face.

     I push off the wall, blocked by Roger’s body. “Brian,” I plead, searching for the right words. Would he believe we were kidding, or if he knew us better than that, would he be willing to keep it a secret. “You-”

     “Won’t tell, quite honestly don’t blame you,” he says simply, walking back inside the club, leaving Roger and I looking to each other for what to do next.


	8. July 26th, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Roger's birthday and Y/N decides to have a little photo shoot to help him celebrate. Slightly NSFW

     “Happy birthday, Rog,” I say, collapsing on the bed next to him, propping myself up on my elbows.

     “And you said you looked ridiculous in a full length fur coat,” he teases, carefully holding the Polaroid between his thumb and pointer finger, watching the image develop.

     I laugh, playing with the sleeve of the jacket, “I feel ridiculous.”

     “You look,” he says, his words trailing off as his gaze lowers to my mostly exposed chest, only slightly covered by the soft material of his coat. “I can’t even decide on a word that’s fitting for how you look right now, wearing your birthday present on my birthday,” he whispers, toying with the purple stone dangling off my neck.

     I roll over, snuggling into the crook of Roger’s neck, his skin warm against my cheek. “I wish we could just spend all day together, go to dinner,” I say, watching the image of me in nothing, but a fur coat getting clearer and clearer with each second.

     Roger places a kiss to the crown of my head, tucking my head under his chin. “I know, love, but Fred planned this weeks ago, he’s just shit at keeping things a secret,” he whispers. He places another kiss into my hair. “You could come,” he says.

     I sigh, linking my fingers through his. “And ruin your birthday with Freddie’s blow up when he finds out we’re together?” I say. “I’ll be here when you get back,” I promise, kissing him knuckles.

     “I wish he did know, then you could just stay here all the time.”

     “I know, it’s just you know my brother,” I sigh, looking up at Roger, his eyes closed.

     He nods his head, “Yeah, he’d make a big deal about it, pout for a few weeks, then hold it over our heads at every chance possible.”

     I pull his hand to me, kissing the back of it, then releasing his hand. “Have fun tonight, it’s not everyday you turn twenty-two,” I say, pushing on his arm, forcing him out of the bed.

     “What would you know about it?” He teases, winking as he closes the door. I toss a pillow at the closed door, falling back with a huff. I roll off the bed, shrugging Roger’s coat onto the end of the bed. Grabbing the camera from the bedside table, I toy with the angles, making poses that feel ridiculous. A thought comes to mind. I get off the bed, going into the small bathroom connected to Roger’s bedroom. I turn on the shower, the steam soon clouding the glass doors. Placing the camera on the counter, I set the self-timer and hop in the shower. I let the hot water wash over me, soaking my hair. Listening for the timer, I press myself against the door, the camera pointed directly at me. The flash goes off, a smirk growing on my face at the thought of surprising Roger with a second Polaroid when he gets home. I step back under the stream of water, letting the water wash over me, wishing Roger was here to keep my company, to tell me stupid stories, anything to do what he does best, to bring a smile to my face.

     The water starts to run cold, so I turn it off and step out of the shower, the air humid from the steam. I wrap a towel around myself, winding another around my head.

     Padding across the floor, I curl into Roger’s reading chair in the corner of his room, pulling the book off the top of his to-be-read pile. The words of the story fade away, a vision of Roger and I dancing coming into view, jazz music surrounding us. The vision changes, the story changing to a heartfelt goodbye when Roger as the main character in the book is being shipped off to fight in the war. The thought of being separated from Roger makes my heart ache, but I know it’ll happen, the way the band’s going, they’re sure to be going on tour soon.

     I push myself out of the chair, going back into the bathroom. I place my necklace between my lips, staring into the lens of the camera, snapping the picture. I set the developing photograph to the side, carrying the camera back into Roger’s bedroom. I set the camera at the end of the bed, pointing towards the headboard and dialing up the timer. Scooting up on the bed until my head rests on a pillow, I bring my knees together, leaning forward, letting my towel fall to the bed. The flash goes off, nearly blinding in the almost completely dark room, except for the light filtering in from the bathroom. I retrieve the camera, setting it back on the bedside table. I move around the room, collecting the photographs, examining them. The thought of Roger seeing them brings a smile to my face.

     Keys jingling catch my attention, wrapping my towel back around myself and poking my head out of the room. Roger tosses his keys onto his coffee table, running his hands through his hair.

     “Hey, love,” he smiles, reaching his hand out to me. I walk towards him, wrapping my arms around him. He smells like vodka and cigarettes, a scent I’ve come to love, at least when it’s on him. I tuck the photographs into his back pocket, wiggling out of his grip and dropping to the couch, a mischievous smile on my lips.

     Roger retrieves the photographs from his pocket, “What are these?” He asks, squinting at the pictures.

     “I don’t know, probably need your glasses to find out,” I tease, unwinding the towel from my hair and tossing it at him. He catches it, retreating to his bedroom. Scuffling sounds are followed by a deep chuckles, Roger re-emerging in the living room, his glass perched on the end of his nose. He walks to the edge of the couch, climbing on top of me, his arms boxing me in against the couch.

     He nips at my ear, whispering, “Promise me I get to be here next time you want to do a little photo shoot.”

     “I’ll buy more film,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck, my towel coming undone. Roger places a kiss behind my ear, moving across my neck, finally placing a solid kiss against my lips, both of us moaning into it.

     Roger pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. “We have to tell Fred,” he says, “he tried to set me up tonight.”

     I chuckle, toying with a strand of Roger’s messy hair, “I bet she was pretty, there’s no denying my brother isn’t good at picking out pretty things,” I say, looking into Roger’s eyes, never as wide at this time of night.

    “I love you,” he whispers, placing a chaste kiss to my lips, his hands snaking down to rest on my hips.

    “I know,” I say, kissing his cheek, pulling at the end of his shirt. “Happy birthday, baby.”


	9. August 20th, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their six month anniversary, a record for both, and to celebrate they go out for dinner and drinks, with the help of Brian keeping Freddie occupied.

     “Just put it in the slot,” I whisper, looking over his shoulder, his fingers fumbling with my front door.

     His nose bumps into my cheek as he turns, his lips grazing my skin. “What do you think I’m doing, trying to carve a new one?” He mumbles.

     I sigh, dropping my chin to rest on his shoulder.“Babe, you’re missing the keyhole!”

     “Well, then there shouldn’t be two of ‘em!”

     I duck under his arm, staring closely at the door then back up at him, noticing his face isn’t obstructed by his glasses. I open my hand to him. “There’s not two of them, give ‘em to me,” I say. I single out my house key, trying to get it in the lock, but it doesn’t seem to want to fit. I sink to the floor, sitting between Roger’s legs. “How do you feel about sleeping in your van? Or right here, my doormat is pretty comfy,” I ask, looking up at him.

     He chuckles, sliding down to sit next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “It’s pouring and it’s our anniversary,” he reminds me, squeezing my arm.

     “Six months, babe,” I smile, just wanting to get inside and change out of my soaking clothes.

     He stands up, offering his hand to me. I take it, allowing him to pull me up. I surrender the keys to him, sulking against the doorway. “We are getting inside and having great, mind-blowing anniversary sex if I have to climb in through a window,” he mutters, his focus entirely on the keyhole stopping us from getting inside.

     “Rog, I don’t think you’re sober enough to climb through a window right now,” I whisper, watching him work. The key finally slides into the lock, turning with ease, Roger smiling at his success. He holds the door open, waiting for me to get inside. I strip off my dress, tossing it to land on the kitchen floor with a thud. Roger follows suit with his jacket and shirt, his jeans significantly less soaked than them. His hands fall to my waist, leading me backwards to my bed, both of us landing on the plush surface with a light oomph. Roger pulls me forward into a sitting position, taking my clip out of my hair and tossing it haphazardly somewhere in my room while he shuffles his shoes off. I kick off my mules, the heavy shoes hitting the floor with a thump that makes me thankful no one lives beneath me. Roger shimmies out of his jeans, pushing himself up on the bed to rest his head on his pillow.

     I fall back, my head resting on Roger’s thigh. “This was fun,” I sigh, wishing more nights could be like this.

     “Yeah, it’s kinda nice that Brian knows, keep an eye out for us,” Roger murmurs, combing his hands through my hair. I turn over, looking up at my boyfriend, his eyes slowly closing.

     “More like babysit Freddie,” I joke, poking his stomach. I scoot farther up my bed, nestling myself into Roger’s arm. “So, this anniversary sex is off the charts amazing,” I chuckle.

     “Totally,” he whispers, placing a kiss on my head, his hand resting on my waist.

     “Tomorrow morning will still count, right?” He asks, lazily watching me. I nod my head slightly, curling deeper into his chest. “We’ll have a few hours before I have to head back to Truro,” he murmurs.

     “Wish you didn’t have to go, but I’m glad you came home for a few days,” I say.

     “I’m yours for the next month,” he promises, placing a final kiss to my lips before falling asleep.


	10. February 20th, 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie finds out. A year long secret relationship between his little sister and best friend shouldn't be too hard to accept, right?

     A blaring alarm increasingly gets louder and louder. “Babe, turn it off,” I mumble sleepily, not bothering to open my eyes. The alarm keeps going, getting more annoying with each beep. “Rog?” I call, sitting up, looking around. I climb out of bed, sliding on my slippers, pulling on one of Roger’s jumper. “Rog, there better be-” I grumble, needing caffeine to wake me up. I stumble into the living room, finding my brother sitting on my couch with a mug in his hand. “Freddie,” I state, checking the room for signs of Roger, but none to be found.

     “Tea?” He says, extending a mug to me. I take it from him, moving to sit down in the chair adjacent to the couch. “Happy birthday, sis, nineteen looks great on you,” he cheerfully says, a growing smile on his face.

     “Freddie?” I question, sniffing my tea. The honey is overwhelming, over-sweetened the way Freddie makes everything.

     He hums over the brim of his mug, “Hmm?”

     “Why are you smiling?”

     Freddie sets his mug down, crossing his leg in front of him, his hands resting on his knees. “It’s the day after your birthday, you’re one year older, and better at lying to me than I thought,” he chuckles sweetly.

     I stutter, choking on my tea. “Freddie, I didn’t, we didn’t-”

     He raises his hand, cutting me off. “Think I’d react well?”

     “Where’s Roger?”

     Freddie shrugs, taking a sip of his tea. “No idea, William let me in,” he says. I make a mental note to tell the landlord not to let anyone in, especially not my brother.

     I force a laugh, setting my mug on the coffee table. “Oh, uhm, well, Rog made sure I got home safe last night since I was so drunk and he said he’d stay to make sure I was okay, and you don’t believe a single word of that, do you?” I ramble, letting my words taper as I notice his face. He lightly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at me.

     Keys jingle in the door, the door opening to reveal Roger, hanging his keys on the hook, finally looking up, his face immediately dropping. “Love, I got you-Freddie?”

     I stand up, pulling the jumper down to cover as much of my legs as possible. “Roger, guess who came to check on me?” I laugh, gesturing to Freddie, sitting on the couch with a smirk.

     Roger chuckles, holding out the bag of pastries to me, “That’s great, I’ll just drop these off and get back home.”

     Freddie clears his throat, pushing himself off my couch. “Your magazines are over there, she’s wearing your jumper, and her fridge is full of your favorite beer,” he says, his eyes scanning the room for more evidence.

     “You looked in my fridge?” I question, crossing my arms over my chest.

     “I was starving, I didn’t know when you were going to wake up.” Freddie shrugs. He looks between Roger and I, “How long?” He questions.

     Roger looks to me. I look between him and Freddie and nod my head. “Uhm, today makes a year,” Roger answers, taking a step closer to me.

     “It’s your anniversary?” Freddie guffaws, narrowing his eyes at Roger. “You waited until she was eighteen? You deserve more credit than I give you,” he chuckles.

     “Freddie!” I exclaim, pushing at his shoulder. “I know you’re mad, but don’t take it out on him, he wanted to tell you,” I tell him.

     “Didn’t mean anything by it, at least now I know why Roger sneaks home early all the time.” Freddie shrugs, dropping back onto my couch, resuming to sip his tea. Roger and I exclaim glances, unsure of where to go from here. Roger makes the first move, stepping around me to sit down in the chair. I step backward, sitting down on the arm of the chair.

     “So how did this happen?” Freddie asks, wagging his finger at us.


	11. June 2nd, 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen gets the chance to record their first album only at odd hours when paying customers aren't there, which threatens to put a strain on Roger's and Y/N's relationship.

     “Every night?” I sigh, setting down my wine glass.

     Roger takes my hands, tapping a beat with his thumb, “It’s the only way they’ll let us use the equipment, we can’t afford the rates,” he whispers, pushing his glasses to rest on top of his head, “Love, it’s the same-” he says, the beginning of the same reasoning I’d heard before.

     I rub his hand, smiling at him, “Same equipment that the Beatles and Elton John have been using, I know,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

     Roger pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arm arms around my waist. “You can come visit the studio whenever you want, there’s couches, and we won’t all be recording at the same time,” he whispers, placing a kiss to my cheek.

     “You mean besides working, studying, and sleeping?” I question, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “We’re never going to get to see each other,” I murmur, sighing heavily.

     “We’re seeing each other right now, love,” he says, his hand moving from my waist to rest on my knee, drawing soothing circles.

     “Oh really, because I know for a fact you can’t see for shit otherwise you’d see the face I’m making right now,” I remark, crossing my arms over my chest.

     Roger leans forward, kissing the tip of my nose, looking into my eyes, “I can see it and it’s making me sad, love,” he whispers.

     “I am sad,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, resting against his chest, his hand still rubbing my knee.

     “I know, love, me too,” Roger rests his chin on top of my head, his voice getting progressively lighter and lighter.  “This’ll be really good for the band,” he says once more, the words emptier than before.

     I lay there, tracing random patterns into the fabric of his shirt, moving up to hold onto the silver chain of his necklace. “Move in with me,” I say, feeling his heartbeat speed up as soon as the words exit my mouth.

     “What?” He questions, his fingers tugging on my chin to make me look up at him.

     I push myself up, bracing myself against his chest, “No, think about it, it’ll be perfect, whenever you have a free second you can pop downstairs to see me, and I can come up for lunch, and this way no matter what our schedule is, we’re at least always coming home to each other,” I explain, rushing my words out. “It’s not like it’d be that different, we spend every night together anyway, this way we won’t have to bounce between your place or mine,” I reason, both with him and myself. “Your drum kit can go over there, I’ll make room in my closet,” I say, thinking about what else I could do to make it feel more like our place and less like mine. I meet Roger’s eyes, glassy and unfocused, staring off over my shoulder. “Roger?”

     He shakes his head, pulling me towards him by the back of neck, “I love you,” he exhales into me.

     “Is that a yes?” I ask, not giving into his kiss, knowing it’s one of his favorite ways to end an argument without actually solving anything.

     “Yeah,” he sighs, closing the gap between our lips.


	12. August 13th, 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N goes to the studio to visit Roger while recording the first album.

     Handing my ID over to the security guard, he looks at the tiny plastic card then scans me, narrowing his eyes at my face. Nervously, I look over my shoulder, tucking my hair behind my ears. He sighs, handing my ID back along with a guest pass, pointing behind him to the dark and vacant hallway. My heels clack against the tile, echoing off the walls, the sound of heavy banging and guitar riffs growing louder. Peering around the corner, I spot my brother, dramatically swinging around a microphone stand, Brian behind him looking royally pissed. I knock on the window, drawing Freddie’s attention. He sets the microphone stand down, rushing out of the booth. 

     “Y/N!” Freddie exclaims, wrapping his arms around me,

     “Y/N?” I hear Roger call, his blonde head poking out of the door frame a second later. 

     Freddie releases his grip, his grin a welcoming sight. “Tell me, what’s life like on the outside?” He asks, looking around me to the light from the front door at the end of the hallway.

     “Still dramatic as always,” I joke, poking at his side. I kiss his cheek, ushering him back inside the room. He runs back into the recording room, resuming his experimentation with the microphone. 

     Roger extends his hand to me, pulling me into the booth. He weaves his way around different equipment pulling me with him. He takes a seat on the end of a large orange couch, pulling me onto his lap. “I tried ringing, I got out of work early,” I tell him, resting my hand on the back of the couch.

     “Slow day?” Roger inquires, placing a kiss on the side of my mouth, his hand sneaking lower and lower on my back.

     “I could ask you the same,” I chuckle, the expressions on all the boys betraying their exhaustion, except for Freddie, still parading around the room, ranting based on his arms never falling below his shoulder height.

     One of the soundbooth engineers spins around in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Roger, I know she just got here, but could you try your part again?” He asks.

     “Go, I love watching you play,” I encourage, lifting myself out of Roger’s lap and onto the arm of the couch. He begrudgingly gets up, twirling his drumsticks all the way to the kit set up in the corner of the room. He counts off, starting off with a heavy beat, Brian following his lead. John excuses himself from the couch, stepping into the hallway. I scoot off the arm of the couch, landing unceremoniously next to Veronica. “Veronica, how are you and John doing with this schedule?” I ask, glancing between the door John just exited through and Roger, still banging away at his kit, his face showing his frustration.

     She sighs, picking up her gaze from her nails to me. “It’s been tough, he’s usually getting home when I’m leaving for work,” she says.

     “Chrissie?” I ask, leaning forward to see her at the end of the couch.

     She chuckles, raising her eyebrows, “I want to kill him sometimes, but then he comes home and I can tell I’m the only thing on his mind.”

     “You and Roger?”

     I sigh, looking to my boyfriend, completely lost in his world of music. “I think it’s starting to get to us, at least to me,” I say, not looking at them, but rather keeping my eyes on Roger. “I feel like I never get to see him, between this, work, school, and when one of us finally gets home, we talk for five minutes before one of us is passed out,” I tell them, looking to Veronica for answers, wishing Mary was here to give her input.

     Veronica leans back, resting her head against the couch, taking a deep inhale of her cigarette. “I think you guys should take a you day, you know, push all that stuff away for one day,” she says, “John and I did it last week, just us, a nice picnic.”

     Chrissy sighs, placing her hand on my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Darling, you know it’s only going to get harder, they’re going to finish the album and go on tour and make another album and go on another tour,” she says, letting her words trail off.

     “I know.”


	13. November 1st, 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen is done recording their first album! Slightly NSFW

     “Love?” Roger calls from the living room, just having gotten home.

     “Bath!” I call back, turning my attention back to my notes, trying to keep the edge of the paper from touching the bubbles. A few thunks followed by a sigh and creaking bed springs signals Roger’s collapse onto the bed. Roger mumbles something, the words unclear from the distance between us.

     “Hhmm?” I hum, rereading the underlined phrases of my notes.

     Roger’s hands fall to my shoulders, massaging the tense muscles. I relax into his touch, leaning to rest my head against his hand. “We’re done,” Roger whispers into my ear. “The album, it’s done,” he clarifies, continuing to massage my skin, his hands dropping to my shoulder blades.

     I crane my neck to look at him, his lips curved into a huge smile. I slap his thigh with my paper, turning my entire body to face him, the water shifting around me with my movement, some of the water splashing onto the floor. “What? Thank god!” I exclaim, pulling his face down to mine.

     He chuckles, murmuring against my skin, “Not the only time you’ll be saying that tonight.”

     “I’m gonna let that slide because you’re done recording,” I whisper, kissing him again before turning back, resting my back against the side of the tub.

     Roger stands up, inspecting himself in the mirror. “But it’ll have to wait,” he sighs, his eyes scanning the tub, knowing my body lays hidden right under the thick layer of bubbles. “Dinner tonight with everyone,” he says, his gaze moving from the bubbles to my face.

     “What time?” I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall. I reach behind me, carefully raising the stopper, allowing just a little of the water to drain out of the tub.

     Roger shrugs off his jacket, setting it over the counter. “Nine,” he answers, his fingers working on unbuttoning his shirt, the silky material sliding off his frame to the floor.

     I reach my hand out to him, pulling him closer to the tub. “Well, it is only a little after six,” I sigh, poking at the rough denim fabric of his pants, hoping he gets the hint. He raises an eyebrow at me, returned by mine. His hand makes quick work of his pants, discarding them across the room. He steps into the tub, sinking down into the warm water, his hands braced against the tub on either side of my head. “Please allow me to congratulate you on a job well done, Mr. Taylor,” I whisper, ghosting my lips against his, moving down to his neck, to the spot on his neck I know will have him like putty in my hands.

     “Miss Bulsara, you’re going to be the death of me,” he says, one hand slipping beneath the barrier of bubbles.

     A loud knock on the door interrupts us, both of us freezing.

     “Y/N! Roger!” Freddie calls through the door.

     “No!” I exclaim against Roger’s chest.

     “Let’s just not answer it,” he whispers, his lips finding mine again. The idea crosses my mind, but I huff, gently pushing Roger off me.

     “Have you met my brother?” I sigh, wrapping my towel around me. Walking through the apartment, my feet leave wet footprints with each step. I throw open the front door, greeted by Freddie smiling as big as he can.

     “Am I interrupting?” Freddie asks, peering his head through the door, one foot, one foot out.

     I sigh heavily, resting against the door, one hand holding on tightly to my towel. “Only my peace, my sanity, my bath,” I say, closing the door behind him. “Freddie, what do you need?”

     “Is Roger home yet?” He asks, taking a seat on the couch. I nod, gesturing to the bedroom. “So then he told you the good news?” He asks. I nod my head. Freddie shoots off the couch, energy radiating off of him. “Then why are you not dressed? We’re going out,” he exclaims, moving around the table to enter the bedroom, blocked by Roger standing in the frame, wearing his jeans and shirt again.

     “Fred, you said dinner at nine,” Roger huffs, leaning against the door frame.

     Freddie raises his arms, waving them around, “Yes, and it’s nearly seven,” he exclaims.

     I sigh, crossing my arms across my chest. “Six twenty is not nearly seven,” I say. “Is everyone else getting this personal time check or just special for me?” I ask, pushing Freddie towards the door.

     “I’m stopping by Brian and John’s later,” he says, his hand on the doorknob.

     “God, let us warn them,” Roger whispers, earning a glare from Freddie

     Freddie turns around, waving his hand through the crack in the door. “See you-”

     “At nine, Freddie, love you, bye,” I rush out, closing the door with a slam, leaning my back against it, my hair falling in front of my face.

     Roger clears his throat, looking at me from across the room. “How long do you think it’ll take to get ready tonight?” He asks, smirking.

     “Ten minutes?” I guess, really only planning to put on a casual outfit.

     Roger steps forward, crossing the room in a few steps, his arms gripping my hips through my towel. “That gives up an hour and forty minutes with nothing else to do,” he says, placing a kiss to my lips, then to my cheek, then just behind my ear. “Any ideas?” He asks, his mouth lingering against my skin, a shiver rippling through my body.

     “Just a few,” I respond, letting my towel drop to the floor.


	14. December 20th, 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen's first concert for their new album.

     “Come on, let’s get up front,” I yell, knocking head towards the stage. Roger’s hands fly to hips, following behind me as I weave through the crowd. Roger tugs me to backwards, landing against his chest with a thump. I twist my neck to place a kiss against his lips, grabbing his hand and pulling his along. Stopping in front of the stage, I turn around, looping my arms around his neck. “I can’t wait to hear the new songs,” I say into his ear. We sway along to the beat of the music, some new band playing the slot before the boys. “I just can’t believe they wouldn’t even put their name in the ad, just live band, like no shit, what other type of band is there,” I huff.

     Roger kisses me deeply, lingering close, “I love that you get so worked up over this,” he says, looking down at me.

     “This is important to you,” I say, playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

     “You’re important to me,” he whispers, kissing me again.

     I laugh, pulling his closer to me. “Appreciate the sentiment, but I’m serious.”

     Roger turns me around, keeping me locked against his chest with his arms across my shoulders, “I know, love, it’s all about branding and marketing,” he says, his lips right by my ear.

     “Guess classes are going good,” Mary says, bumping her shoulder into me.

     “Ready to blow minds?” Freddie asks, pulling Roger out of my grip and through the crowd.

     Mary gets pushed closer, the crowd pushing towards the stage. “Everything better between you two?” She asks, tilting her head in concern. The crowd screams, the band getting into their positions.

     “Hello, lovely people, are you ready to rock?” Freddie calls to the crowd. Everyone screams in response. The screams die down, Roger counting off, the song starting with a bang and Brian’s intricate riff.

     I watch in awe, shaking out of it when Mary knocks into me, waiting for an answer. “Yeah, now that we’re actually able to see each other,” I say, nodding along to the song. “God, I do not understand where my brother pulls this stuff from,” I say in awe.

     “He’s a poet,” Mary shrugs, her eyes watching Freddie move across the stage.

     The heavy bass fills the room, a new song starting. The notes flow, Freddie’s voice leading the crowd along, pausing to watch Brian’s fingers fly across his fret. “God, Brian’s solo was incredible,” I yell, bouncing with the music, “That was his song, right?” I ask, the lyrics blurred by the crowd’s screaming. Mary nods, glancing between me and the stage. “He was bouncing ideas off me one night,” I say, continuing to dance, waving at Roger when he looks to me. His smile grows, playing a little more enthusiastically.

     “I was told a million times of all the troubles in my way, mind you grow a little wiser, little better every day,” we scream along with Freddie and the crowd. The song grows, the beat swelling as if a heartbeat keeping the crowd alive.

     Clangs from the bells and chimes start, introducing the next song, “I have sinned, Father,” Freddie sings, his voice soft and heavenly.

     “Freddie started working on this song years ago,” I yell, shaking Mary out of excitement. The song continues, the band working together in perfect harmony. “Oh my god, John’s solo was amazing,” I yell as they continue to play.

     “Thank you, you’ve been a great crowd, put your hands together for Brian working his magic on his Red Special, Deaky serenading you with his bass, Roger playing his heart out on drums, I’m Freddie Mercury, and together we are Queen!’ Freddie screams to the crowd. Roger weaves himself out from behind his kit, throwing his sticks to the ground, the pair bouncing into the crowd in opposite directions. Roger looks for me, knocking his head towards backstage.

     Mary grabs my hand, pulling me with her. We break through the crowd, making a beeline for the backstage door, stopped by a crowd of giggling girls. We push through, showing our passes, the security guard letting us through. I see Roger first, running to him and throwing myself in his open arms, an incoherent jumble of words flying out of my mouth.

     “You liked it?” He chuckles, setting my feet back on the ground. I nod my head, pulling my hair out of my face. “Want to get some air?” He asks, gesturing to the stairs that lead to the roof of the club. I climb up, Roger right behind me. I get to the top, pushing open the heavy door, the metal hitting the roof with a loud clang. The gravel crunches under mine and Roger’s shoes as we make our way to the edge of the roof, taking a seat on the edge. I watch people file out of the building, some stumbling, some dancing.

     I point out to a group of kids yelling and dancing down the street, “You did that,” I mumble, resting my head on his shoulder. He chuckles, holding a cigarette out to me. I hold it to my lips, inhaling. A breeze passes, making me wish I’d worn more than a tee shirt, but I knew that the clubs got too hot to hold onto a jacket. Roger and I shiver at the same time.

     “Want to head back inside?” Roger mumbles, taking the cigarette from my fingers.

     “In a minute,” I say, enjoying just his presence and the dull thumping of the music below us.


	15. February 19th, 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N's 20th birthday.

     “Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!” The restaurant cheers, egged on by my brother. I smile, resting my head in my hands, letting my eyes close for a second.

     Roger wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him in the booth. I let my head fall to his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep right there. “You’re the one who couldn’t say no,” Roger whispers, his eyes focused on Freddie and Mary across the table, surrounded by all of your friends plus a few people you don’t recognize.

     I yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. “Mary caught me off guard,” I tell him, thinking to this afternoon when Mary, supported by Freddie, bombarded me with a surprise dinner. “We’ve been up since seven am, I just want to sleep,” I say through another yawn.

     Roger pats my side, his hand pausing to tickle it. I jolt forward, holding back a laugh. He pulls me back to him, settling back into his arm. “Not yet, I still have to give you your present when we get home,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

     My shoulders drop, “Baby, not tonight,” I say, shaking my head, imagining I won’t even be able to stay awake for the ride home.

      He chuckles, shaking his head, “No, love, an actual present in a box and everything, I didn’t have time to grab it before your parents picked us up this morning,” Roger clarifies, a satisfied smirk gracing his features.

     I relax back into his shoulder, picking at the cake in front of me. “Oh okay, thank god, not that I don’t love and want to have sex,” I rush out.

     He quiets me with a kiss, “You’re exhausted, I get it,” he says, another quick kiss placed to my lips. “Sleep tonight, because tomorrow we’ve got another full day,” he says, winking.

     I bite my lip, leaning closer. “What do you have planned?” I ask. Roger leans forward, his face obscured by my hair, his words just loud enough for me to hear. “I’m feeling a little more awake now,” I whisper, raising my eyebrow at him.

     Roger leans back, sipping from his drink, sneaking a glance at me. “Glad to know I can still entice you,” he murmurs.

     I cross my legs under the table, his hand sneaking it’s way up my thigh, stopping right at the hem of my dress. “I don’t think you’ll ever lose that effect on me, I don’t think there’s a single other person in the world that could convince me to do the things you have,” I say, intertwining my hand with his.

     “Convince? Name one time I’ve had to do something other than mention an idea,” he questions, a knowing smirk on his lips. I huff, crossing my arms, knowing he’s right.

     “Toasts to the birthday girl!” Freddie calls, raising his drink to me.

     “Freddie, no, really, I know you all love me otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” I urge, looking around the table.

     Freddie sits down, looking at me over the table. “Fine, party pooper, than just me, your favorite-”

     I cut him off, “Only.”

     He clears his throat, “Favorite brother,” he finishes. “Watching you grow up has been a pleasure and I can’t wait to see where you go from here,” he says, finishing with a smile directed at only me. “Happy?”

     “Thank you, Freddie,” I say, leaning across the table to place a kiss on his cheek. I land back in my seat with a thump, the booth offering little padding.

     Roger leans over, “Ready to go, love?” He asks. I nod, scooting out of the booth behind him. I bend down as we pass, thanking Freddie and Mary for planning. I wave goodbye to my friends, most of them too preoccupied to notice. The bells above the door chime as the exit the cozy restaurant, Roger placing his coat around my shoulders.

     “I know, I need to get better at remembering a coat,” I say as I pull the fur coat tighter around my frame, the material tickling my nose.

     His arm snakes around my waist, walking in tandem. “It’s no problem, I love seeing you in my clothes,” he says, “although, I am worried about you freezing to death when we go on tour.”

     My heart drops at the mention of a tour, the news sure to come any time now, the only questions of when, where, and how long. “Any news?” I ask.

     Roger and I turn the corner, our apartment in sight. “Not yet, love,” he sighs. “Have you thought anymore about coming with us when we do?”

     I pause, looking up at him, his eyes glassy from the bitter wind. “You know I don’t want to be away from you, but it’ll depend on when it is, I can’t drop out of school when I’m so close to being done,” I sigh, the air from my exhale hovering around me like a cloud of smoke. He kisses me, warmth spreading from my lips to the tip of my toes.

     “Come on, let’s get inside,” Roger urges, pulling us up the steps. He fumbles with his keys, finally getting the door open, the lock always sticking when the temperature drops. Roger ushers me inside, closing the door behind me. I stand still, allowing the warmth of the apartment to unfreeze my body. “Come on, love, bedtime,” Roger murmurs, guiding me towards the bedroom. I crawl into bed, still wrapped in Roger’s coat, my feet sticking off the side. He laughs to himself, pulling me up, his coat falling off my shoulders in the process. I lift my arms, Roger’s fingers moving to pull my dress off of me, tossing it to the closet floor. He bends down, resting on his knees, his fingers working on unlacing my heels, the shoes dropping to the ground with a thud. I pull my legs back under the blanket, curling up in the warmth of our bed. Still leaning on the ground, Roger shuffles things around in the bedside drawer, removing a small box. My fingers weave themselves into his hair, so incredible soft under my touch. Roger glances at me, opening the box. “It’s not a wedding ring,” he says, my eyes on the ring in the box, the purple stone a perfect match to my necklace.

     I laugh, playing with his hair, trying to keep my eyes open. “Good, I’m too young, you’re too young, god, we’re so young,” I murmur, losing the fight to stay awake. “Rog, I love you,” I say, vaguely aware of his rough fingers sliding the cool metal onto my index finger.


	16. July 13th, 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen has just been released and the boys preform the first official concert celebrating it's release.

     I smile, holding the small piece of paper in my hands. “Your name on the billing, I accept nothing less from her majesty,” I say, holding it right in front of Roger’s face. He laughs, pushing the paper down, peering at me over it. “So do you feel ten feet tall?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. Roger pulls me towards him, his lips hovering near mine, the scent of his last cigarette lingering.

     “Only when I’m with you,” he whispers, finally placing his lips on mine.

     “Is that a remark about my height?” I tease, placing myself in his lap. He shakes his head, a light laugh escaping his lips. The backstage door bursts open, Freddie storming through it, rolling his eyes at us before taking a seat in front of the mirror. “Mary can’t make it?”

     Freddie huffs, look at us in the reflection of the mirror. “That monster of a manager wouldn’t let her out of her shift,” he spits out.

     “How dare he not let her skimp on her job that she gets paid to do,” I say, a mock gasp ending my sentence.

     Freddie turns around, pointing his eyeliner pencil at me, “How are you here?”

     “I asked off for work weeks ago,” I tell him, my eyes going to the door, Brian’s long frame blocking most of it.

     “Hey, Y/N,” Brian and John greet at the same time, squeezing onto the couch.

     “How is it that all of you wear more makeup than me?” I ask, holding John’s face between my fingers, turning to take in the heavy eyeliner Freddie had talked him into for the show.

     “Maybe because we care about what we look like,” Freddie mutters under his breath.

     “Shove off, Freddie,” I remark, flipping him off.

     Roger starts to stand up, stopped by me in his lap. He sinks back down onto the couch fully. “I love how she looks,” he defends, staring daggers at Freddie.

     I lift myself out of Roger’s lap, pulling my shorts down. “I’m gonna go get a space,” I tell him, bending over, placing a kiss to his cheek.

     Roger holds me to him, looking into my eyes. “You know I mean it, right, I don’t care that you don’t wear makeup,” he says, swiping his thumb under my eye, moving to cradle my face.

     I tilt my head, placing a kiss to Roger’s palm. “Yeah, Freddie’s just being pissy because Mary couldn’t make it,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about me, you’re gonna do great tonight,” I say, excusing myself around the boys’ legs and moving to the hall, closing the door behind me. Instead of heading to the crowded dance floor, I move down the hall the opposite way, pushing through the alleyway exit, the fresh air hitting me like a ton of bricks. I pull Roger’s flash from my purse, knocking it back, the whiskey burning as it goes down. Leaning back against the wall, I hear Freddie’s voice over the crowd, amplified by the club’s sound system. I pull open the door, weaving my wave back down the hallway, pausing by the dressing room. The small room looks inviting compared to being pushed around by sweaty strangers. I step inside, closing the door behind me, the heavy beat of their song still audible. I sigh, collapsing onto the couch, pulling the blanket off the back and scrunching it under my head as pillow. I turn over, letting my feet dangle off the end of the couch, resting my hands on my stomach. The echoes of Queen’s songs lull me to sleep.

**. . .**

     I blink a few times, vaguely aware that I’m being moved. “We look like we’re kidnapping her,” Freddie remarks, clicking his tongue.

     “Do you want to wake her?” Roger whispers aggressively, tightening his grip on me.

     I blink a few times, Brian’s bushy hair coming into view, his face coming into focus next. “Too late,” he says, smiling at me, “Hello, love.”

     “Brian, why are you upside down?” I ask, twisting my neck to try and get him right side up. I shake my head, looking to the side, realizing that I’m not upside down, but horizontal. Looking up, I see Roger looking down at me, his arms supporting me under my back. “No, I missed the whole show,” I whine, letting my head fall back. “I just wanted to lay down for a second, but then-”

     Roger hushes me. “It’s fine, it’s not like you haven’t seen us play a dozen times and heard the songs on repeat,” he says, his face telling me his words are genuine.

     I sigh, letting my head fall back again, watching the street go by. “The audience loved it, I could feel it,” I say, reaching my arm across my body to poke at Freddie. He pokes me back, the smile on his face evidence that any bit of his bad mood earlier is completely gone. “You can put me down,” I tell Roger, wrapping my arms around his neck.

     “Do you want me to?” He asks, peering down at me, his bangs falling in front of his eyes.

     I reach up, brushing the blonde locks off his forehead. “Not really, but I feel bad making you carry me all the way to, wait, where are we going?” I ask, looking around, the club not in sight.

     “The van’s around the corner,” Roger answers, jerking his head forward.

     I pat his shoulder, “Yeah, you can put me down,” I say. He loosens his grip, letting me slide out of his grip, my feet landing on the hard concrete. I steady myself, gripping Roger’s arm. We move forward, our steps a little out of sync. “How long back?”

     “An hour to London,” Brian mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Roger’s van comes into sight. He unlocks the doors, Freddie, Brian, and John climbing into the back. I get into the passenger seat.

     “Go to sleep, I’ve got to drop them off before we get home,” Roger says, taking my hand in his and holding it, his other resting on the steering wheel.

     “Okay, but wake me when we get there, I do not want to die because you tried carrying me up the stairs,” I tell him, gripping his hand tighter then closing my eyes.


	17. August 4th, 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen has been preforming and promoting their first album, and now work begins on Queen II.

     Roger steps into the bedroom, diving face first onto the bedspread. “I want to sleep for a week,” Roger mumbles, his words muffled by the pillow.

     “I think we can arrange that,” I say as I comb by fingers through his hair, untangling sections of knotted strands. 

     Roger turns his head to face me, lines from the creased pillow cover already imprinted on his skin. “No, we’ve got recording time,” he sighs, twisting his entire body to face me. He gazes at me, moving to take my spare hand. “I’ve got news,” he tells me, a small smile on his lips, “we got a tour.”

     My heart sinks to my stomach, “You did?” I ask, forcing a smile onto my face.

     He nods, his eyes never leaving my face. “Yeah, it kicks off September 13th, here, then we’ll be bouncing all over the UK until after Christmas,” he explains.

     “You’re going to miss Christmas?” I gasp.

     “No, we have a show in Taunton on the 21st then another on 28th in Liverpool, so we’re all going to drive back on the 22nd,” he says. He pauses for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few times before any words manage to escape. “We have another show, after the new year, in Australia,” he finally says. My mind reels at the thought of Roger being on a completely different continent, all of their concerts so far having technically been within driving distance.  “I want you to come with us, we can make a holiday out of it,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

     “To Australia?” I question, thinking of all the preparations it would take to go; getting a passport, asking off of work, missing school, but then I think of all the good things; being with Roger, seeing Queen perform somewhere besides the Marquee, seeing the ocean and a beach for the first time. 

     “Love?” Roger says, his eyes trained on me.

     I take a deep breath, “Australia,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

     Roger laughs, propping himself up on his elbows, “Yes, it’s this big country across the ocean, they have kangaroos, koala bears, the people speak funny-”

     “Roger, I’m well aware of what Australia is, I’m just processing,” I say, cutting him off from his mocking.

     “Take your time,” he says, leaning up to kiss me, his right hand falling to rest on my waist. “Please come,” he whispers, peppering kisses across my face and neck. 

     “I can’t afford it,” I sigh, holding onto his hair as he continues his way down my chest, moving across the expanse of my collar bone, lightly biting one spot in particular. 

     “No cost, record label’s paying for us and significant others, as they referred to it,” he murmurs, his lips continuing to leave marks in their path. “Mary, Chrissy, and Veronica are coming,” he adds, looking up at me, his chin resting on my stomach. “Say you’ll come,” he pleads, his eyes bigger and bluer than they should be allowed to be.

     “The 27th?” I ask, letting my head fall back against the headboard.

     “Of January,” he confirms, his hands moving down to toy with the hem of my shorts. “We can stay however long you want, do whatever you want,” he promises, his fingers tapping a beat out against the skin of my upper thigh, his fingers getting higher and higher with each passing moment until they stop right at the hem of my underwear, his fingers toying with the lace material. I adjust my head to look down at him, his eyes full of hope. I nod my head slightly, Roger’s grin growing twice it’s size.

     “Australia,” I hum in confirmation.


	18. November 12th, 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is home for a few days for some shows in London.
> 
> ANGST and mentions of cheating

     “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” I murmur against his skin, curling into his side tighter. His grip around my waist tightens, bending down to place a kiss on top of my head.

     “I know, love, but I gotta go pick up the guys in an hour,” he says.

     I whine, clutching at his warm body. Until he came home a month ago, I didn’t realize how much I missed having him in bed, I slept better being able to curl up next to him, and now he has to leave again for another month. I sit up, moving to straddle his waist, lowering myself to rest against his chest. “No, sorry, Queen has to find a new drummer, you’re not allowed to leave,” I say, looking up at him.

     Roger laughs at my statement, in one swift move flipping us over so he’s hovering above me, his shaggy blonde locks tickling my face. “No one could replace me,” he defends, kissing my nose.

     I reach up, looping my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me. “Trust me, I know,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist, effectively trapping him against me. “You guys are Queen, and it can’t be Queen without all four of you.”

     “You could come on the road with us, sing harmonies, you sure you don’t know how to sing like your brother?” Roger teases, tangling his hand in my hair.

     “I don’t think anyone does,” I confirm, laying against his chest. “I miss you,” I murmur, alternating between kissing and nibbling his ear.

     “And I miss you,” he replies, his hand gripping my waist.

     “Do you?” I ask, my gaze stuck on the ceiling.

     “What? Of course I do,” Roger murmurs. “Love? Y/N?” He asks, his face moving into my line of sight.

     I shake my head, trying to pull Roger back down to me, but he doesn’t budge. “It’s nothing,” I assure him, offering a smile. He raises his eyebrows, the silence in the room killing me. “It’s just I know that you have girls throwing thems-” I mumble, refusing to look him in the eye.

     Roger shakes his head. “Stop,” he says, rolling off me to lean back on his heels. “Did someone say something to you?” He asks, resting his hands on my knees.

     I scoff, pushing myself up into a sitting position, “Should they have?”

     “Where is this coming from?” Roger asks, moving off the bed. He stands at the edge, running his fingers through his already messy hair. “You’ve never been the jealous type,” he asserts, raising his hands in confusion.

     I cross my arms over my chest, his shirt bunching up under the movement. “I’ve never been the jealous type because I never had to worry before, I knew that girls flirt and throw themselves at you, but I never thought you’d take one of them up on it,” I say, sighing as the words leave my mouth. Roger stands still, looking at me, waiting for further explanation. I exhale heavily, trying to stay calm. “Some girl at the club was bragging about-”

     “Stop,” Roger says, raising his hand. He places his hand on her forehead, pushing his hair back before looking at me again. “Is this why you wanted to leave last night?” He asks. I nod my head, knowing that Roger didn’t believe me last night when I said I suddenly wasn’t feeling well. Roger moves forward, coming to kneel by my side of the bed. He takes my hands in his, his thumb moving to glide over the ring he gave me for my last birthday. “Whatever she said wasn’t true,” he whispers, kissing the palm of my hand, holding it to his face, “I love you, Y/N.”

     I sigh, relaxing my hand against his cheek. “I love you too, Roger, but I’m also not stupid or blind or deaf, I can’t just ignore it,” I murmur, pulling my hand away to rest in my lap. I look over Roger’s head to the clock on the wall, the minute hand moving dangerously close to the twelve.

     Roger follows my gaze, knowing he needs to leave now if the guys want to get to their show in Leeds on time. “I don’t want to leave like this,” he whispers, turning his attention back to me.

     I smile, softening my features, “You have to, Roger, you’ve got a show tonight.”

     Roger hesitates, finally pushing himself off the ground. “I’ll call you as soon as we get there, and I’ll call every night, I don’t care if I have to stand in the rain in a payphone,” he says, his hands lingering by his side. I grab the closest one, pulling him to me, wrapping my arms around his torso. He bends down, placing a kiss to my head, “I’ll be back in a month,” he says, his lips hovering above my head. I release my grip, watching Roger exit the bedroom, his hand coming to rest on the door frame, looking back at me.

     “Bye, Roger,” I sigh, waving.

     “I love you,” he says, bending down to pick up his duffel.

     “You too,” I say. His figure retreats, the sound of the front door gently opening and closing breaks down the damn of tears I’d been holding back.


	19. December 22nd, 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger's back from the tour, with only one show to go at the end of January, but the homecoming isn't what either Roger or Y/N hoped for.
> 
> ANGST and mentions of cheating and violence.

     The sound of keys in the lock wake me up. I race out of the bedroom, Roger’s body illuminated only by the street lights seeping through the window. “Roger!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around him. He staggers backwards, caught off guard by my embrace, his back hitting the door.

     “Y/N,” he sighs, his head falling to rest in the crook of my neck. “What are you doing up?” He whispers, his hand cradling the back of my head.

     I lean away, smiling up at my boyfriend. “I heard your keys,” I say, moving my hands to cradle his face. A sharp inhale exits Roger’s mouth. I flip on the lamp, the light illuminating the space around us. “What the hell?” I ask, turning Roger’s face in my hand, inspecting the healing bruise on his eye.

     “It’s nothing, love,” Roger sighs, turning off the lamp, “let’s go to bed.”

     I stand tall, crossing my arms over my chest, blocking Roger from moving past me. “No, tell me what the hell happened to your eye,” I demand, “I swear to god, Roger, if you started another bar fight,” I say, turning away from Roger, throwing my hands up.

     “I wasn’t in a bar fight,” he says, his sad eyes looking at me. I stop pacing, turning to face him, waiting for an explanation. Roger sighs, his eyes moving around the room. “Freddie lost it because he saw a groupie throw herself at me-”

     “My brother punched you?” I question, knowing that Freddie was a good boxer in theory, but could never stand to actually hit someone.

     Roger sighs, shaking his head. He leans back against the door, his height shrinking and his eyes looking anywhere but mine. “No, he grabbed me by my shirt and I tried to pull away and ran right into-”

     “Did you push her away?” I ask.

     Roger shoots off the door, shaking his head, his mouth moving quickly. “What? Of course, love, I-”

     I sigh, shaking my head at my blabbering boyfriend. “Roger, my brother’s impulsive and rash and quick, but he’s not that quick, so he would’ve seen more than her throwing herself at you, he would’ve seen you pushing her away too,” I argue, stepping closer to Roger. “You pushed her away, right?” I question, tears building in my eyes. “Roger?” I ask, my voice starting to shake.

     Roger sinks back down against the door, his gaze locked on the floor. “I was so drunk, and she looked like you, I didn’t even realize it wasn’t until after Freddie-”

     “How many times Roger?” I ask, looking down at him. I knock my foot into his boot, forcing his attention to me.

     Roger looks up, tears shining in his blue eyes, making his eyelashes even darker than usual. “It’s so hard being away from you, I miss you so much,” he whimpers, wrapping his arms around my torso. “Please say something,” he whispers, his grip on my shirt tightening. “I haven’t slept with any of them,” he says as his tears stain my shirt.

     I step out of his grip, moving backwards to rest against the back of a chair. “That’s not exactly reassuring, Roger!” I exclaim, tears running down my face. I inhale deeply, forcing my voice to steady, “You need to go stay with Brian or John, or somebody, I can’t look at you right now.”

     “Y/N,” Roger pleads. I shake my head, staring him down. He stands up, his whole body shaking. He grips the door handle, turning it and opening the door. He takes a step outside, his duffel hanging loosely at his side. “I love you, so much,” he murmurs, the tears on his cheeks glistening in the moonlight.

     “I know, Roger, but I don’t feel very loved right now,” I say, closing the door in his face and turning both locks.


	20. December 31st, 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The record label is throwing a New Year's Eve party and everyone's invited.
> 
> SUPER LONG CHAPTER, drinking, mentions of drugs

     Mary pulls another curler from my hair, the section bouncing to life. Mary rests her hands on my shoulders, messing with the ends of my hair. “Mary, what is that?” I ask, peering at the gorgeous jade ring resting on her ring finger.

     “Freddie proposed,” she calmly says, shrugging her shoulders, but her smile betrays her excitement. “On Christmas,” she adds, her smile growing.

     I spin around in the chair, taking her hand in mine to inspect the ring closer. The beautiful green stone in embedded in a simple gold band. “And you didn’t call and tell me? I’m offended,” I joke, shaking my head at her, turning back around to face the mirror, Mary continuing to work on my hair, her fingers delicately pulling curlers from it.

     “Well, after everything with,” she murmurs, her sad eyes looking at mine in the mirror.

     “You can say his name, Mar,” I tell her, thankful for her consideration about Roger and I’s situation.

     “Have you talked to him?” Mary asks. I shake my head, the newly formed curls moving with my head. Mary works on getting out the last curler, running her fingers through my hair to shake out the curls. Blasting hairspray at my head, the thick spray coats the air around us, both us coughing. “He doesn’t look good,” she says as the air clears, “at least that’s what Brian told Freddie,” she says.

     “He’s staying with Brian?” I ask, standing up. I move around Mary, picking my jumpsuit up off the bed, the material shining in the light.

     Mary sits down, smoothing out her skirt. “No, he’s staying at a motel,” she says, not looking at me. I move to stand behind the closet door, dropping my robe. I pull the material of the jumpsuit up, letting the elastic snap tight around my chest. “None of the boys like what he did,” Mary says, her voice quiet.

     I step out from behind the door, closing it. “As if they don’t do the same thing,” I scoff, knowing the problems that being on the road has caused their relationships.

     “Freddie would never,” Mary defends, zipping up her knee high tan boots.

     “Yeah, well, he just put a ring on your finger, you have nothing to worry about.”

     “And yours put one on your finger too, one that I remember you telling me that you were so glad wasn’t a wedding ring,” she says, her eyes focusing on the ring around my index finger.

     “But that was then,” I remark, my hand moving to play with the stone around my neck.

     “And now?” She asks, sitting down in front of the mirror, touching up her lipstick. She caps the tube, turning to face me. “Do you want to marry Roger or do you just want a promise that he isn’t going to leave you?”

     I sigh, leaning my back against the wall. “I’m not worried about him leaving, just cheating,” I admit, letting my eyes fall shut to avoid Mary’s gaze. “Just maybe if we were together in a more official capacity, I wouldn’t feel this way, I mean I don’t think people know I exist, those gossip mags are always-”

     “Trying to get people to buy them, nothing more,” she says, resting her hand on my mine reassuringly.

     “You and Freddie are in them all the time,” I mumble, pouting my lips.

     Mary shakes her head, her earrings jingling, “Do not tell me you actually buy those,” she says, her eyebrows creased together.

     “No, of course not, but I have to stock the magazine racks at the store,” I say, thinking back to all the time I’ve wasted flipping through the new arrivals to see if there’s any mention of the band.

     A rapid knock stops Mary, Freddie’s head popping into the room. “Everyone decent?” He asks, peering around.

     I move toward the door, bumping my shoulder into his. “More than you’ll ever be,” I scoff, rolling my eyes at my brother’s nearly naked attire, his outfit missing the top half. “Not even telling your own sister about your engagement,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

     “Oh, I’m sure I mentioned it,” Freddie chuckles, wrapping his arm around Mary’s waist, guiding her down the hall.

     “Oh, when? On the one phone call we shared during your entire tour?” I ask, rushing to keep up with him. Freddie chuckles nervously, tugging on his top hat. “Thanks for looking out for me,” I whisper, looping my arm through his.

     “What are big brothers for?” He says, winking at me. He unloops our arms, moving to hold the door open for Mary and I, a black limo waiting at the bottom of the steps.

     “No, really, thank you for standing up for me, but Freddie, no matter what happens between Roger and I, I don’t want it to affect your friendship, or the band,” I say as Freddie closes the door.

     “You’re my little sister,” he says, looking down at me with concern.

     “And I can deal with this myself,” I press, carefully moving down the steps. “I knew who Roger was when I we started this, I’m not delusional, or stupid, or blind,” I say, resting my hand on the door handle of the car. “If we want things to work out, it has to be between us,” I insist, opening the door, sliding into the car. Brian and Chrissy wave from the other end of the car, the two intertwined in their seats. Veronica and John are deep in their own conversation, Roger now the only one missing from the group.

     “That might be kinda hard, darling, when you won’t talk to him,” Freddie says, ducking into the car, Mary right behind him.

     I buckle my seatbelt, leaning against the window. “I will talk to him, just not yet, it’s only been a few days,”

     “Nine,” John states, his focus still on Veronica. “What? It’s been nine days,” John says, clearing his throat, now looking at me. “I’ve gotten calls every night from the motel when Roger passes out by the pool,” John says, his expression looking more sad rather than angry.

     “John, stay out of it,” I sigh, letting my head fall backwards against the headrest. My head lolls to the side towards John. “Every night?” I question, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, rolling my head back to face the window, the street passing by.

     John leans towards me, his hands intertwined in front of him. “He’s not okay without you,” he says quietly.

     I lift my head, anger flowing through my veins. “I can’t follow him around! I have a life of my own, plans that I want to do, I don’t want to be the girlfriend who follows her boyfriend on tour,” I say, louder than I had intended, my anger getting the best of me. I turn towards the door, Mary’s face dropping. “Oh, Mary, I’m sorry, you know that I didn’t mean it like that,” I sigh, trying to backtrack my statement.

    Mary shakes her head, Freddie’s arm moving to wrap around her shoulders. “No, no, people think I’m a gold digger, I’ve seen the articles,” she murmurs.

     “In the magazines that you told me not to bother to look at,” I say.

     “How do you think I know not to look at them?” She asks, tears building in her eyes. Freddie shoots a daggering look at me, turning his body to face Mary, whispering things to her. I let my head fall back again, wanting the limo to hurry up and arrive at the party. My wish comes true, the car slowing down then stopping. I pull on the door handle, rushing out of the car. The cool air hits me like a ton of bricks, just like the solid mass that I collide with. Hands grip my waist, keeping me upright.

     “Y/N,” a slurred voice mumbles, the grip on my waist tightening.

     “Roger,” I say without looking up, keeping my eyes focused on the chains around his neck, glistening in the moonlight, contrasting against his pale skin. I step out of his grip, leaning against the open car door, making room for him to climb in. He hesitates, lingering in the same spot. I can feel his eyes on me, daring me to look at him. Clearing my throat, his feet move forward, clambering into the car. I inhale deeply, letting the air fill my lungs. I get back into the limo, closing the door with a solid thud. The air inside the limo is filled with deafening silence, even Brian and Chrissie’s conversation halted. “Can someone please talk?” I huff, my gaze focused outside, watching the buildings go by. “Not you,” I add, pointing at Roger, his body wedged between Veronica and Brian.

     “Who wants a drink?” Freddie asks, raising a flute of champagne. I swipe the glass from his hand, knocking back the entire contents of it in one move. Freddie’s eyes widen, moving to grab the bottle. He pulls the bottle from the ice bucket, handing it to me. I tilt the bottle back, relishing the feeling of the bubbles. I let the bottle tilt forward, stopping the flow of the sickening sweet liquid, Freddie snatching the bottle from my hand. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax into the seat, only to be jolted up when the car makes an abrupt stop, a holler coming from the driver beyond the partition. I open my eyes, finding blue ones staring into mine.

     Freddie pats my back, shaking my shoulder. “You okay?”

     I sit up, tearing my gaze from Roger’s. “Yeah, fine,” I sigh, leaning back in my seat. “How much longer?”

     “We’re here,” Brian states, his gaze fixed outside the window. I turn to peer outside, a large house coming into view. The limo pulls into the driveway, lined up behind other cars and limos. The limo inches closer and closer, finally coming to a stop. I rush to get out of the door, stepping onto the gravel with a crunch. I step towards the elaborate staircase, stopped by a cough. I turn around, Roger’s hand extended to me.

     I scoff, moving up the staircase as fast as I can in my heels. “What is this, the eighteenth century? I have to enter with a guy and have our names announced? Piss off, Roger,” I say, pushing open the large double doors, loud cheers filling the air.

     I push into the house, moving through the crowds in search of the bar. I veer towards them, spotting an empty bar stool. I take a seat, raising my hand to catch the bartender's attention, ordering another two flutes of champagne. Downing both glasses, I turn around, scanning the crowd, accessing the levels of intoxication, ranging from completely sober to completely gone. I push myself off the bar stool, letting myself be swept up by the crowd. My hips start swaying to the beat, my hands raising to the air. Hands come to rest on my hips, pulling them along to the beat. “Get off, Roger,” I huff, unlatching the hands from my waist.

     “Don’t know who Roger is, but heaven help the man who pissed you off,” a deep voice whispers into my ear. I turn around, coming face to face with a man I don’t recognize, his hand coming back to rest on my hips, moving them to the beat.

     “Sorry, thought you were someone else,” I yelled over the music, taking a step back.

     “I can make you forget about him,” he offers, stepping closer, traces of white powder now prominently clear in the flashing lights. I shake my head, looking around for anyone familiar. He steps closer, our bodies pressed against each other. I move around him, stepping further into the crowd, letting the bodies help me disappear. Weaving through the crowd, I look for a break in the walls, stepping into a bustling hallway. I step around people, moving out the way of servers and party goers alike. Stepping backwards to get out the way of an intertwined couple, I bump into something, cold liquid spilling down my back.

     “I am so sorry, Miss,” a server profusely apologies, picking up the spilled glasses, offering his towel to me.

     I take the fabric, dabbing at my back as best as I can. I give up, my arms not capable of reaching the soaked fabric. I hand the towel back to him, looking around, “Where’s the restroom?” I ask.

     “I’d try upstairs, Miss,” he says, using the towel to soak up some of the spilled liquid. The server stands up, his height towering over me. His dark eyes look around nervously, “Here, if you’ll follow me, I can show you the second staircase, I don’t know if you’ll be able to make it up the main one,” he offers, his voice hushed. He stands up, motioning for me to follow him. Weaving through the crowd, he holds open a door, revealing the kitchen. “Here you go,” he says, gesturing to a much smaller staircase. “Second door on the left.”

     “Thank you,” I say, pausing to look for a name tag.

     “David,” he fills in for me. “Again, sorry about this, I hope I didn’t ruin your outfit, it’s beautiful, you’re beautiful, uhm, sorry, yeah, second door on the left,” he says, coughing awkwardly, turning on his heels to exit the kitchen. I climb the stairs, the crowd growing quieter and quieter with each step. I push through a door, entering an empty hallway. I move down the hall, pushing on the second door, silently thanking the universe that it’s empty. I close the door, turning the lock. Bending down, I search through the cabinets, gripping the handle of a hairdryer. I plug it in, the tool whirling to life. Pointing the end at my back, hot air starts to dry the soaked fabric. After a minute, the fabric feels sufficiently dry, I shut off the dryer, unplugging the cord from the wall and returning the dryer to its place under the sink. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I run my fingers through my hair.

     “Miss, are you okay?” David calls through the door. I force a smile on my face, turning and opening the door, David standing right outside, an apologetic look on his face.

     “It’s Y/N and I’m perfectly okay,” I assure him, moving past him to lean against the main staircase railing, the party still full of life below us.

     “Are you sure?” He asks, coming to rest his arms next to mine.

     I lightly scoff, “You a shrink?”

     David shakes his head, smiling down at the crowd, “Chef,” he corrects. “And right now I think you need,” he says, studying me while he thinks, “Shepherd's Pie,” he declares, clapping his hands together. I laugh, nodding my head, the idea of a freshly baked one making my stomach growl. “It’s a gift,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

     “Y/N?” Roger calls, his hand gripping the railing, one foot on the landing and his other on the last step. I ignore Roger, keeping my gaze on the party down below.

     “I’ll leave you two, rain check on the pie,” David says, stepping backwards, retreating into the staircase leading down to the kitchen.

     Roger moves closer, taking the spot that David had been in. “Who’s he?” Roger asks, his forearms resting on the railing close enough to mine that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

     Scoffing, I step over a little, putting space between the two of us. “No one, Roger,” I say, pushing off the banister, pacing down the hallway. “What do you want?”

     “For you to forgive me, I miss you,” Roger says, trailing behind me. I turn around, my arms crossed over my chest, coming face to face with Roger. His breath fans over my forehead, the whiskey and tobacco combination hitting my senses.

     I place my hand against his chest, curling my fingers around his necklace. “Roger,” I sigh, twirling the chain around my finger. “I-”

     “I won’t do it ever again, I’ll stop drinking, I’ll stop smoking, I’ll do anything,” he whispers, his hands lingering by my hips. “It’s New Year’s Eve, kiss me,” Roger pleads, pulling me to him, the crowd downstairs counting down.

     “Promise me you’ll never cheat on me,” I whisper against his lips.

     “Never, ever, never,” he responds, his eyes locked on mine. My gaze drops from his eyes to his lips, our lips meeting as the clocks rings in a new year.


	21. January 29th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen is in Australia and all is well between Roger and Y/N as they enjoy their first vacation as a couple.

     The sun beats down on my skin, the salt from the ocean biting at the air. Savoring the cool drink, I sip on my straw, playing with the miniature umbrella perched inside my glass. “Want to move here?” I ask, turning to look at Mary. “I’m serious, we can ditch the boys, get jobs that involve being on the beach everyday,” I say, using my hand to block the sun from my eyes.

     Freddie scoffs, sitting up on his towel, his hair sticking to his forehead from the heat. “Why are we not included in this plan?”

     “You’re busy rock stars, places to be, people to appease,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders.

     Roger drops down next to me, his arm snaking around my waist. “I heard rock star, you talking about me?” He asks, smirking.

     “Yeah and her plans to ditch you to live here full time,” Freddie answers.

     “You’d betray me for the simple pleasure of the Australian sun?” Roger asks, gasping to mock betrayal.

     “Any day,” I whisper, placing a kiss on his sunburned nose. He hisses, lifting his drink to hold it against his reddened skin. “Did I not tell you to use extra sunscreen?” I ask, turning around to dig through my bag, withdrawing a bottle of aloe vera. I squirt a small amount onto my finger, placing it gently on Roger’s nose, smearing the clear substance across the bridge. “I think your hairs getting lighter with all this sun,” I comment, tilting my head to better access. “it suits you,” I declare, toying with the end of the long strands.

     “Thank you,” Roger whispers, leaning closer to place a gentle kiss on my lips, the kiss leaving the hint of the ocean on my lips. Roger leans back, sipping on his drink, his eyes on the horizon.

     “We’re going to head back to the hotel before I end up looking like a lobster,” Mary says, standing up. She brushes some sand off her legs, wrapping her towel around her waist. Freddie grabs their bag, slinging it over his shoulder. I wave at the pair, watching their figures retreat.

     I roll over, draping myself across Roger’s chest, staring up at him. “Roger?” I hum, tracing my fingers up his torso. His eyes peek open, looking at me through his eyelashes. “Lunch?”

     “Where to?” He asks, his hand lazily rubbing my back, his fingers pausing to fiddle with the tie of my swim top.

     “How does room service sound?” I ask, quirking my eyebrow.

     Roger pauses for a moment, faking deep thought. “A private room with food delivered to the door? I can’t think of anything worse,” he says, his smile creating crinkles near his eyes. I push myself off his chest, purposely bending over to grab my bag, making a show of shaking off my towel, looking at Roger over my shoulder. He climbs off his towel, throwing the colorful fabric over his shoulder, intertwining his hand with mine.


	22. February 20th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Y/N's third anniversary isn't the day either of them hoped for, especially with Roger leaving for tour next Friday.

     “Are you awake?” Roger asks, his voice muffled against my bare shoulder, but still too loud for my hungover body. I roll over, pressing my face into my pillow.

     “No, I’m dead,” I respond, my voice coming out hoarse. “What even happened last night?” I ask, coughing to try and clear my throat. The action burns, wishing for a glass of water.

     Roger presses a kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering against my skin. “There was alcohol involved,” he says, dragging his lips down my spine trailed by his fingers. “And a lot of icing,” he adds, his lips stopping at the curve of my back, his fingers dancing across the expanse of skin. I snort, wincing at the movement it causes. “Love,” Roger whispers, pecking his way back up my spine, pushing my hair away from my neck, his lips hovering behind my ear, “open your eyes.”

     “No, the sun’s out there,” I cry, burying my face deeper into the soft fabric.

     “Happy anniversary,” Roger murmurs against the soft skin of my neck. His fingers tickle at my waist, a giggle forcing its way out of my lungs. The motion sends a burning taste up my throat, my body scrambling out from under Roger. I throw myself in front of the toilet just in time, Roger’s hands gathering my hair behind me. The hard floor stings my knees, another wave of nausea hitting me. Roger combs this fingers through my hair, quickly braiding it to keep it out of my face.

     Roger’s hands rub a smoothing circle on my lower back, “I’m gonna go get you something to drink,” he whispers. I nod lightly, my hands gripping the edge of the bowl. Roger returns, setting a glass of water by his foot, sitting back down on the edge of the tub.

     The tile is harsh against my legs as I push myself off my knees to collapse on the cool floor, closing the toilet lid with a thud. “You’ve got to stop letting me drink so much on my birthday, it ruins our anniversary,” I mumble, resting my head against the wall.

     Roger leans over, wiping at my forehead with a cool rag. “You’re saying this isn’t your ideal day?” He jokes, setting the washcloth on the edge of the tub. He tugs the ponytail holder out of my hair, unweaving the messy braid that constrained my hair. 

     I tilt my head, looking at Roger, his eyes filled with concern as his hand combs through my hair. “I wish you didn't have to leave next week,” I murmur.

     “I know, but I'll be back at the end of the month,” he whispers, sectioning off my hair and braiding it again. “Feeling any better?”

     I nod, moving to lean back against the wall. “Happy third, baby,” I laugh, letting my eyes fall shut. Roger chuckles, his lips placing a gentle kiss against my forehead. 

     “Happy anniversary, Y/N,” he sighs, a content smile gracing his features.


	23. March 17th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen was originally scheduled to preform in Birmingham on March 17th, but it was pushed to April 2nd as they were left without sufficient crew and also had to answer police inquiries after the famous riots in Stirling. Y/N calls to check up on Roger and the others, worried about the situation.

     The phone rings and rings, panic starting to set in. I close my eyes and force myself to breath, telling myself that Roger would be on the other end of the line, the hotel promised they’d connect us. 

     Static crackles, a high pitched voice cutting through. “This is the Birmingham Police Center, how can I direct your call?”

     “Police?” I squeak, my heart dropping to the bottom of my stomach.

     The woman on the other end clears her throat, “Yes, how may I help you today?”

     “I was told that my boyfriend, uhm, Roger Taylor, would be available on this line,” I answer, my hand nervously drumming against my thigh, the pace picking up with each passing moment. I start pacing back and forth behind the counter, ducking down when the front door bells jingle.

     She hums, the sounds of a pen tapping clear through the line. “Roger Taylor, Roger Taylor, ma’am, I’m sorry, I’m not seeing his name in our logs,” she says, the sound crackling at the end.

     “He’s the drummer of Queen,” I whisper, peering over the counter to check for the customer. 

     The receptionist exclaims happily, “Oh, yes, of course, Queen is here just answering some questions regarding the situation down here, give me a moment to collect him,” she says, my heart finally slowing to a normal rate since the moment I saw the headline on the news. “Who should I say is calling?”

     “Y/N Bulsara,” I answer, my voice low. 

     “Be back in a moment,” she says, the phone clinking to hold. I sink to the floor, resting my back against the cabinets. A basic blue song plays through the phone, the tone anything, but smoothing in this moment.

     Crackling interrupts the rhythm, Roger’s voice coming through hushed, “Love,” he sighs. I can imagine his face, his eyes shutting from relief, just as mine does. “I’m gonna buy one of those bloody cellphones that Miami has, why should only lawyers have them, this place is ridic-”

     “I was just calling to make sure you’re okay, the tv-” I rush out, my words leaving me breathless.

     “They have us holed up in the police station, we’re all fine, love,” he reassures me, the image of him and the boys laying in the hospital slowly fading from my mind, Roger chuckles drawing my attention back to the phone call, “unless your brother actually manages to steal a uniform,” he adds.

     I sigh, cradling the phone between my cheek and shoulder, pushing myself off the ground, “You’re okay, that’s all I care about,” I murmur, glancing around the store. The only customer in the store is weaving her way up and down the aisles, slowly filling her basket.

     Roger clicks his tongue and I know his hand is working at the tense muscles in his shoulder, a nervous habit. “The show’s canceled, but the label wants us to stay out here to do some press and work until our next show,” he sighs, “we’ll be back in two weeks,” he adds as if the date isn’t circled on our calendar. Indistinct talking cuts through the air. “I’ve got to go, love, they have some more questions for us,” Roger says, “I love you.”

     “Love you too, Rog,” I tell him, picturing him safe and sound at home in our bed, “see you soon.” 

     The line cuts off, leaving me listening to static. I set the phone back in the receiver, forcing a smile on my face as the customer walks up. “How can I help you today?” 


	24. March 31st, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen is back in town for one last show before heading off to Birmingham then the US for the rest of their tour.

     “Mary, I’m not feeling well, will you let Roger know I’m not going to make it tonight?” I croak into the phone. Leaning against the counter, I watch the microwave tray spin around, the pattern on the bowl containing my soup rotating like a kaleidoscope.

     “Do you want Roger or me to come check on you? The show doesn’t start for a while,” Mary asks, the bustling noise in the background telling me otherwise. I check the clock on the wall, the show suppose to start in less than twenty minutes.

     I shake my head even though she can’t see it, “No, it’s fine, no, just my mom tried out a new recipe and I don’t think it’s sitting well,” I tell her, thinking back to the kick it had, even for my mom’s cooking. “I don’t know how Roger’s standing,” I murmur, his portion had been twice the size of mine at lunch with your parents.

     Mary hums, “Nothing to do with the four shots last night?”

     “Yeah, or it might’ve been the vodka, smartass,” I chuckle, stirring the soup with my spoon. I pull the phone cord as far as it’ll stretch, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Just tell Roger I’ll see him when he gets home tonight,” I say, hanging up the phone. I watch the steam rise from the bowl, creating an envelope of warmth around me. Pulling my knees to my chest, I stretch Roger’s jumper over my knees, propping my magazine against it. Flipping through the pages, beautiful scenery and buildings fill page after page. Absentmindedly, I stir my soup, the warmth slowly diminishing against my fingers. I set the magazine aside, leaning over the table to dip a biscuit into the broth, letting the bland treat dissolve against my tongue.

     A scratching noise catches my attention. I try to discern where it’s coming from, moving around the kitchen then living room, the noise continuing. I drop to my knees, moving along the floor, pressing my ear to the wall. Standing up, I open the door, sticking my head outside. “Where are you?” I murmur, slipping on my shoes and stepping into the cool night. Moving around the hall, I check down in all the corners and down every hallway.

     Huffing, I turn back around to head back inside when I hear a light meow. I turn my head, meeting bright blue eyes and a pink nose wedged between the bars against the window. “Well, hello,” I greet, peering at the frightened little creature. I wiggle my arms through the grate, gripping the kitten, the matted white fur sticking between my fingers. Carefully, I pull my arm out, bringing the small animal with me. I cradle the kitten against my chest, returning to the the apartment. “You’re all alone, aren’t you?” I ask, a small meow answering. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I murmur, stepping into the kitchen.

     Turning on the faucet, I let the water run hot, turning it down to a manageable heat, letting the sink fill up. I set the kitten in the sink, the water coming up to its neck. I run the water through its fur, dirt and grass coming off into the water, the kitten’s fur now pure white like fresh snow. “Will you keep me company until Roger gets home?” I ask, humming to myself. I take its meow back as a yes, picking the kitten out of the water and wrapping it in a dish towel, holding it against my chest. Using one hand, I fetch the milk from the fridge, pouring a small amount into the coffee lid, moving it carefully to rest on the table. I set the kitten down, unwinding it from the towel. I push the milk towards it, urging it to eat. The kitten creeps forward, hesitantly licking the milk, but quickly finishes the entire thing. I pick the kitten up, holding it to my chest, the sleeves of my jumper covering it’s small body. Keys at the door draw my attention, Roger stepping through the door, shedding his coat to the floor. His eyes light up when he sees me, curled up on the couch, the kitten concealed in the fabric of my jumper.

     Roger crosses the room, dropping down next to me, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “Missed you tonight,” he whispers, his arm falling to rest on the back of the couch.

     I sigh, leaning over to rest against his shoulder. “I know, I’m sorry,” I murmur, curling into his warmth.

     “You feeling better?” He asks. I nod, looking up at him. He looks down at me then his gaze drops further. “Is that a cat?” He asks, his mouth hanging open.

     I nod, pulling the small kitten from lap, holding it up for Roger to see. “River Meddows, River because of the eyes-”

     “You named him after me?” He asks, gently stroking the kitten’s head.

     “Him?” I question.

     Roger’s eyebrows scrunch together, knitted in confusion, “It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

     “Might be a boy,” I shrug, smiling at the small kitten, purring contently.

     Roger chuckles, “Might? You haven’t checked?” He asks, moving to take the kitten from my hands. I hand it over, Roger hovering the kitten in the air, squinting at its underbelly.

     I shake my head at the ridiculous sight, laughing, “Check for what? I don’t think cats are set up the same way humans are,” I say, taking the kitten back from Roger. “I’ll call Freddie in the morning and ask,” I say, letting the kitten curl back up in my lap.

     Roger laughs, pulling me closer to him, his hand resting against my waist. “Well, at least now we know you and Freddie really are siblings, it’s like cats are drawn to you two,” he jokes, kissing my lips.

     I pull away, placing a kiss on Roger’s noise. “How was the show?” I ask.

     Roger shakes his head, his glasses sliding off his head to land in his lap. “We were off, one of Brian’s strings broke during Liar so Freddie had to switch to his Fender, but the audience was great, they chanted for us to come on,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I think we’re all just exhausted,” he adds.

     I turn my head and place a kiss on his cheek. “Well I’m glad my Rainbow Man did well at the Rainbow,” I say, kicking at his sparkly shoes. “You know I think I had the same pair when I was twelve,” I joke, smiling up at him.

     “See, I knew you had good taste,” he teases, chasing after my lips for a kiss.


	25. April 16th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen is in the US for the first time, but what will an ocean's between them to do Y/N and Roger's relationship?

     Static crackles, the connection poor. “Where are you, again?” I ask, curling the phone cord around my finger.

     “Denver, Colorado,” Roger reminds me over cheering in the background. “I’d wish you’d come with us, it’s boring here,” Roger adds, sighing.

     I chuckle, stepping over the cord and unwinding it. “And spend weeks cooped up in a tour bus with my boyfriend and my brother,” I muse, rolling my eyes. “I think for all of us to make it out alive, we need to avoid ever being in that situation,” I say, “besides, I’ve only got a month left of classes.”

     “And then you’ll leave me to open up a big and fabulous hotel in Australia,” Roger jokes, poking fun at how much I loved the beaches in Australia, even though he knows my dream is to open a bed and breakfast in the country.

     “You’re always welcome to stop by,” I reply, stepping around River at her food bowl.

     “And risk getting another round of shots, no thank you,” Roger says, his voice dropping, “I don’t think the medicine they gave Brian is working, he’s getting worse,” he adds.

     I sigh, my heart breaking for Brian. “I hate that he won’t be able to enjoy America,” I murmur, thanking the universe that it isn’t Roger that's sick. I turn around, squinting at the clock across the room, counting down the minute hand. “I’ve got to go, I’m having lunch with my parents,” I say, working my way back over to the phone receiver. “Send me lots of pictures and letters and call when you can, okay, Rog? I miss you.” 

     “Miss you too, love, I’ll call soon, we’re in Kansas tomorrow night, then Ohio, I think,” Roger says, listing off more tour locations.

     “You say those places like I’m supposed to know them.”

     Roger chuckles, low and deep, a shiver shooting down my spine. “Why America insists on having so many places, I do not understand, can’t it all just be America and call it a day?”

     “You should talk to someone about that,” I jokingly suggest, bouncing on the balls of my feet, playing with the hem of my sleep shirt, one of Roger’s old tees. “I gotta go, I love you.”

     “You too,” Roger says, “say hi to River for me.”

     I look down at the growing kitten, her white fur blending in with the kitchen tile. “Should I put her on the phone like Freddie does with Tom and Jerry?”

     “No, love, unlike your brother, I’m not crazy,” Roger says, chuckling. “Tell your parents hello for me, bye, love,” he says, the dial tone taking place of his voice. I sigh, setting the phone down, leaning back against the counter, watching River play with a bit of food. 

     Moving around River, I go into the bedroom, changing out of my pajamas and into a clean t-shirt and loose jeans, sliding on a pair of boots. My keys jingle as I pick them up, River coming running. “No, honey, stay here,” I urge, keeping her from running out the door, “I’ll be back in an hour, I have to go see your crazy grandparents and assure them I know what I’m doing with my life,” I whisper, closing the door behind me.

     The walk to their house is brief, only a few blocks over from Roger and I’s apartment. I knock on the dark wood door, my father throwing it open. “Y/N, you’re here,” he greets, standing in the doorway.

     “Did you forget?”

     He shakes his head, stepping aside to let me in, “No, you’re mother thought you wouldn’t come,” he says.

     “And miss this warm, loving interaction? Never,” I joke, sliding off my jacket and placing it on the coat rack.

     “I do not like your sense of humor, your brother has rubbed off on you too much,” my father remarks, closing the door harshly.

     My mother enters the room, different colors scattered on her apron, swatting at my father’s arm with her oven mitt. “Leave her alone,” she hushes. She wraps her arms around me, “Y/N, you’re looking thin, come, let’s get some food in you, I made your favorite,” she urges, moving us further into the house. She pushes me into a seat at the dining table, a plate of food sitting in front of me.

     The scent wafts up, hitting me like a ton of bricks, my stomach turning over. “Are you okay?” She asks, her eyes focused on me like a hawk.

     I nod my head, moving my hand to discreetly cover my nose. “Yes, fine, just not very hungry,” I say, pushing the plate away.

     “This is your favorite,” my mother urges, pushing my plate back towards me. I sigh, picking up my fork and poking at the rice, placing some in my mouth. “You don’t look okay,” my mother says, her brows knitted together. She reaches across the table, the back of her hand coming towards me. 

     I swat her hand away, setting my fork down. “I’m fine, just a little stomach ache.”

     “Y/N, you should go to the doctor, you know, Susan’s daughter was feeling ill and it turned out to be a stomach virus,” she says, “imagine what you could’ve picked up at one of those concerts,” she adds, the concern in her voice turning to judgement.

     “I’m fine, it’s just the food,” I assure her, the variety of spices evident even just by looking at the food. “Roger doesn’t understand seasoning, so I go from plain oatmeal to this and it upsets my stomach, nothing more,” I tell her, pushing the rice around, placing more into my mouth, forcing myself to swallow it.

     My mother scoffs, pushing away from the table, “That boy has been starving you? I knew that he isn’t go-” she starts, moving to the kitchen.

     I push myself out of my spot, “Stop! I’m not starving and Roger isn’t the problem, I’m fine,” I say, loud enough that my father turns around from his chair. “I’m fine,” I say, calmer than before.

     My mother pokes her head out of the kitchen, the phone cradled between her cheek and shoulder, her address book flipped open. “Go to the doctor, just to check,” she urges, her finger moving down the page, pausing on a contact. She dials the number

     I roll my eyes, careful not to let her see. “Fine,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “Can I go now?” I ask, not wanting to wait around to find out who she called.

     My mother raises her hand, silently shushing me. “Let me just talk to Susan, see what happened with her daughter,” she whispers, the phone ringing. 

     “Sorry, I’ve got to go, I have homework,” I rush, grabbing my jacket off the rack and stepping outside. I slam the door closed behind me, rushing down the steps, sliding my jacket on as my feet hit the pavement of the road. “I swear, that woman,” I mutter, walking down the road.


	26. April 22nd, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N gets some news and nobody is there to share it with her.

     “I’m Doctor Wells, how have you been?” The doctor greets, her smile the kind that reaches her eyes.

     I shrug, crossing my hand in my lap, “Fine, just busy, I’m almost finished with school,” I say, fiddling with my ring,

     She looks down at my chart in her folder, her pen moving down as she reads. “And I see you’ve been experiencing nausea?”

     “Yeah, my mom’s been experimenting with some new recipes, my boyfriend’s a musician so we’re out a lot,” I explain.

     Doctor Wells looks down at her folder again, closing it and setting it aside. “Miss Bulsara, you’re pregnant,” she states, her face showing no signs of joking, “About eleven weeks along.”

     I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “No, that isn’t possible, I’ve gotten my period recently, and my boyfriend and are always safe,” I stammer, my mind reeling.

     “The bleeding you experienced was most likely a result of the impregnation occurring and spotting, which is extremely common in the beginning of pregnancy, and no matter how careful you’ve been, there’s always a risk,” she explains, rolling her chair over to the table, picking up some papers, moving back to me. “Listen, honey, you’re obviously very young,” she says, her eyes scanning across my face, “here are some pamphlets, I’d like you to take them home and look over them, talk through things with your boyfriend.”

     “He’s in America until June,” I stammer, looking at the papers in my hands.

     “I’d suggest paying the international call fee,” she says, standing up. She moves towards me, her hand touching my arm. I look up at her, concern in her eyes. “Is there someone I should call to come get you?”

     “No, I’m fine, thank you,” I say, sliding off the table, sticking the pamphlets in my purse. She holds the door open for me.

     “You can schedule a follow up appointment up front, or you can call in when you’re ready,” she calls from the doorway. I push out the front door, inhaling the fresh air, the pamphlets weighing down me and my purse. Standing still, I look out, watching cars pass by. 

     “Ma’am?” A nurse asks, resting her hand on my elbow.

     “They’re going to kill me,” I whisper, a tear escaping from my eye.

     “I’m sorry?” She asks, moving to stand in front of me.

     “My parents, they, they’re going to kill me, I’m too young, and I’m not married, not that they’d want me to be, they hate my boyfriend,” I stammer, the words falling out of my mouth. I collapse to the ground, burying my face in my hands.

     The nurse shifts, taking a seat on the ground next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “What about you?” She asks, holding me as I shake. I raise my head, looking at her in confusion. “Do you want this?”

     “I don’t know, eventually, I want to be married and have kids,” I murmur, wiping the wetness from my face, “but, I want to graduate school and get a job managing a hotel then open my own bed and breakfast,” I say, crossing my legs, resting my purse in my lap.

     She smiles at me, taking my hands in hers. “A baby doesn’t mean you can’t have those things,” she says. I nod my head, taking in her statement. She stands up, offering her hand to me. I wrap my hand around hers, standing up. “Take some time, look over what the doctor gave you, and give us a call when you’re ready.”


	27. May 1st, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUPER SHORT CHAPTER BUT NEXT ONE MAKES UP FOR IT; Roger is still in America, playing across the country, while Y/N is in London struggling to tell him about her news.

     The phone rings, waking me up. I roll out of bed, hurrying to the kitchen, checking the clock, a little after six in the morning. “Roger?” I sigh, knowing he’s the only person that would call this early, it still being late at night in America.

     “Hello, love,” he slurs.

     “Roger?” I question, waiting for him to pick up on my annoyance.

     “Yes?” He responds, giggling like a little kid.

     I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “How drunk are you?” 

     “Not as much as Brian,” he chuckles, a snort escaping him. He laughs at himself, giggling again. “How are you, love?” He asks, sighing.

     I inhale deeply, this was not how I planned to tell him about my news. “I’m-”

     Roger exclaims, cutting off my words. “Oh, love, yesterday we performed with Aerosmith, no wait, that was today, the time zones have me all messed up,” he stammers, muttering to himself.

     “That’s not the only thing that has you messed up right now, Roger,” I mutter, sinking into the couch, my hand resting underneath my growing stomach, a slight bulge now evident. “Roger?” I call into the phone. Light snoring answers my question. I shake my head, standing up to hang up the phone. River meows, pawing at my calf. I bend over, picking her up and cradling her against me, “I know, I miss him too,” I sigh, slipping back into bed, setting River on Roger’s pillow, the sun starting to shine through the window.


	28. May 13th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The US tour gets cut short due to Brian's worsening health, so Roger shows up a month early and surprises Y/N, getting a surprise of his own when he get home.

     “Hello, love,” Roger whispers in my ear. I curl into his embrace, relishing in the warmth.

     “Roger,” I murmur, knowing where the dream leads, the same place it’s lead the entire time he’s on tour. I turn over, taking in his bright blue eyes, highlighted by his unbelievably dark eyelashes. I reach up, ghosting my finger under his eye, his soft skin so close, but so far. I close my eyes, knowing that when I open them he’ll be gone.

     “Love?” He whispers, stroking my hair.

     My eyes shoot open, Roger still there with a sly smile. “Roger!” I exclaim, scrambling backwards, my head hitting the headboard with a thud. His eyes zero in on my hand, resting protectively on my stomach. I pull my shirt down, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Roger,” I start, pleading for him to look at me. He stays frozen, his eyes fixed on the small bump beneath my shirt.

     Finally breaking the silence, he whispers, “How far along are you?”

     “About fourteen weeks.”

     Roger shoots off the bed, his hands thrown in the air. “What? When did you find out? Were you just not going to tell me? I was supposed to come home and find you with a baby-” he rambles, his mouth moving as fast as his hands, waving crazily in the air as he paces back and forth.

     When he comes near the bed, I stick my leg out, hitting his thigh with my foot. “I’m not due for months, Roger,” I sigh, pulling my hair up into a bun. “I found out on the 22nd, and I tried to tell you, every single time we talked, I just could never get the words out,” I explain, resting my hands on my stomach.

     Roger stares for a moment, his face growing red, his feet moving again, pacing around the room. “I’m going to kill Freddie,” he mutters.

     “He doesn’t know,” I interject.

     Roger scoffs, turning around to look at me, “There’s no way your mother kept this from him,” he says.

     I mutter to myself, “Uhm, yeah, that’s because she doesn’t know either,” I mumble, twirling my ring with my thumb. Roger’s mouth drops open. I sigh, sinking deeper in the bed, “I’ve been lying and just saying I’m busy and can’t come over,” I say. Roger moves again, stepping into the bathroom, the sound of water running echoing off the walls. I sit up, leaning towards the door. “Wait, how are you here? You’re not supposed to be back until the eighth,” I say, shaking my head, mentally counting the days.

     Roger steps back into the bedroom, his face stricken with worry. “Brian’s sick love, they’re talking that he might lose his arm,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on my knee.

     “What? Where is he?” I ask, my mind scrambling to comprehend how Brian went from feeling under the weather to amputation.

     “The hospital, the doctors are trying everything,” he says.

     “We have to go, see him, help with something,” I rush out.

     “Should you be at a hospital?” He asks, glancing at my stomach. I scoff, pushing myself out of bed.

     “He’s one of your best friends, of course we’re going to go check on him,” I say, pulling on a pair of athletic pants, grabbing a jumper from the floor. I move around Roger, searching for a pair of shoes. “Why would hospital women avoid hospitals, are you aware of where we give birth?” I mutter, bending over to check under the bed. Roger taps my shoulder, holding out my sneakers, his eyebrows raised. I take my shoes from him, sliding them on feet. “Well?” I ask from the doorway, Roger staring at me from the end of the bed.

     “No, I guess not,” he mumbles, narrowing his eyes at me.

     “What?”

     “You’re bloody pregnant,” he sighs, shaking his head lightly.

     I scoff, sticking my finger at his chest, the tip sinking into the fabric of his shirt. “No, we are, you are not sticking me with this alone,” I assert, looking up at him. Dropping my gaze and my voice, I say, “Please remember that when we tell my parents.” I turn away, stopping when Roger’s hand grasps around my arm.

     “Y/N, should we talk about it?” He asks, his eyes trained on mine.

     “On the way to the hospital,” I answer, knocking my head towards the door. He trails behind me, the door closing with a thud. Moving down the stairs, Roger’s hand comes to rest on my lower back. I smile at the small gesture, one of the things I missed most about Roger being gone, the small things. Roger holds open the car door for me, closing it gently behind me. He walks around the car, climbing into the driver’s seat, not moving to start the car.

     “Do you want to get married?” He asks, staring straight ahead.

     “I’m sorry?” I cough, looking at him. He turns his head, his face showing no emotion. I turn back to look at the road. “Do you?”

     “Do you?” He echoes, his hands still by his side.

     I reach over, placing my hand on his. “Roger,” I whisper, forcing his attention to me. “I don’t not want to get married, but I don’t want to get married just because this happened.”

     Roger turns his hand over, gripping mine in his, his thumb rubbing over my ring. “I was going to ask you a year ago, on our anniversary, but when you saw the ring your face was full of panic, so I lied and said it wasn’t an engagement ring,” he whispers, his gaze fixed on our intertwined hands. “I love you, Y/N, have for a long time,” he adds, gripping my hand tighter.

     I inhale deeply, closing my eyes. “Do you remember the moment when?” I ask, looking over at him. His eyebrows knit together in confusion. I reach over, soothing over the creased skin, it relaxing under my touch. “I do,” I say, dropping my hand to his cheek. “I was still seventeen, and it was about a month into you coming into the store,” I explain, thinking back to how fast my heart raced every time I heard the store door bell ring, hoping it was him. “I was on the floor restocking and you walked in, sat down next to me, and helped me finish so that I could go on break sooner,” I continue, remembering the packaging on the candy bar he’d passed to me on the first day we met. I smile to myself, pausing to look at Roger, his face in awe. I clear my throat, pushing back tears. “That was the first time you offered me a cigarette and my brain froze because it had been against your lips and I wanted to kiss you right then,” I whisper, my thumb moving to rest against his lips, a small smile tugging at the corners. “Instead I took the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and hoped that when I exhaled my feeling for you would disappear, but you smiled at me and I knew I was gone,” I say, a single tear escaping out of the corner of my eye. “Roger, there’s no one else for me,” I say, watching Roger.

     His face contorts, his hand reaching up to wipe away the tear, his hand lingering against my cheek. He pulls away, turning his face away to look out the window. I hold back a sniffle, worried I scared him away, but I hear a sniffle escape from him. He turns back to me, his eyes red and shining. “I woke up one morning, it was the during the first week we got together and Freddie was staying at Mary’s, you had stayed over, but you weren’t in my bed, so I thought you had snuck home,” he whispers, his voice wavering. “But I went into the kitchen and you were in there making tea and humming one of my songs,” he sighed. “I knew then,” he scoffed, “should’ve told you right then and there.”

     Reaching over, I take his hands in mine, kissing his knuckles. “You only waited a week to tell me, that isn’t bad as far as keeping it to yourself goes,” I whisper.

     Roger chuckles, my body shaking with his. Roger looks to me, his eyes bright and shining, only sign of his tears being the wet spots on the collar of his shirt. “Will you marry me?” He asks. I laugh, nodding my head. “Yes?” He asks, his smile growing. I nod my head, my own smiling growing too. Roger pulls me to him, kissing me so deeply that when we break we’re both panting. He takes my left hand, sliding my ring off my index finger and onto my ring finger, kissing the back of hand.

     “The courthouse is on the way to the hospital,” I suggest, raising my eyebrows at him.

     “That it is,” he says, picking up his keys and turning the engine over, “but you deserve better than a courthouse, Mrs. Taylor,” he says, smiling.

     I pause, lightly squeezing his arm. “Back up, baby, I’m keeping my last name,” I say, Roger turning to look at me, his eyebrows knitted together again. “It’s 1974, Roger, not the Stone Age,” I sigh, leaning my head to rest on his shoulder.

     “What about the baby?” He asks, his gaze dropping to my covered stomach.

     “Baby Bulsara-Taylor,” I suggest. Roger hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio. “Should we tell people?” i ask, moving my hand to cradle my stomach.

     Roger hums, shaking his head in thought, “Do you want to?”

     I shrug my shoulders, “I mean, I’m not going to be able to hide it much longer,” I say, having obsessively watched my stomach grow in the mirror over the past month.

     “I don’t know, I mean if I didn’t know, I wouldn't know,” he says.

     I pull at my jumper, inspecting the different ways it lays against my body, agreeing with Roger, reasoning that if I avoiding anything tight fitting I could hide it for a few more weeks. “Okay, maybe not right away, we don’t need people worrying about me, Brian needs our full support.” I say as Roger pulls into a parking spot. The lull of the engine stops, Roger’s hand remaining on the steering wheel. “Baby?”

     “I love you,” he sighs, leaning over to kiss me. His lips linger against mine, the light scruff scratching against my cheek. “Let’s go,” he says, pulling away, holding open the car door for me. I slide out, tugging down my jumper. Roger intertwines our hands, guiding me towards the front doors of the hospital.

     The sterile scent is overwhelming as Roger pushes open the door, people in uniforms bustling around. “We’re looking for Brian May, he was admitted a few hours ago,” Roger asks one of the nurses. She flips through her folder, pausing on a list.

     “Room 313,” she says, moving past us. Roger leads us down the hallway, stopping in front of the elevators.

     “We dropped him off at the emergency room when we got in,” Roger tells me, as the elevator door opens, his hand resting on my lower back. Stepping inside, the door clang shut, the box jolting upwards. Roger hums, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against my back.

     “He’s going to be fine, Rog,” I assure him, wrapping my arm around his torso to grab his other hand. The doors creak open, Roger rocking on his heels. I step forward, pulling him with me. Checking the signs, I turn right, stopping outside a door, a small window on the door. Brian’s hair is visible underneath a mess of wires and cords, beeping echoing through the door. Roger leans over me, peering through the window. A drop of wetness hits my shoulder followed by another. I turn around, pressing myself against Roger, holding his tightly. “Shh, shh, he’s going to be fine,” I whisper, pressing my face into his chest.

     “They won’t let us in.”

     Roger and I turn, Freddie and Mary standing at the end of the hallway. “Why?” I ask, untangling myself from Roger.

     “Too much of a risk,” Freddie says, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. “Darling, is there something you need to share?” Freddie asks, stepping back an arms length, his hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes drop to my stomach then to my hand, narrowing.

     Roger steps forward, his hand wrapping around mine. “We’re getting married,” he says.

     “Congratulations,” Mary cheers, clapping her hands together.

     Freddie wraps his arms around all of us, pulling us together tight. “Guessing the wedding will be happening soon,” he whispers, placing a kiss to the top of my head.

     “Before October, the sooner, the better, though,” I murmur, stepping back.

     “What’s wrong, did something happen?” John asks, jogging down the hallway.

     “No, just welcome home hugs,” I says, readjusting my jumper. John sighs, letting his shoulders drop.

     “Freddie, what did the doctors tell you?” Roger asks.

     Freddie sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “Nothing helpful, just that they’re doing everything they can, whatever the hell that means,” he exclaims, beginning to pace up and down the hallway.

     “Have you guys been home yet?” I ask, taking in the exhaustion written across everyone’s faces. Everyone shakes their heads. “They’re not going to let us in anytime soon, let’s all go home, it isn’t going to do Brian any good if we all get admitted for passing out in the hall,” I suggest, leaning against Roger’s chest. Glances are exchanged against among the group and a murmur of agreement.


	29. June 17th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N has officially graduated from university with a degree in hospitality. Her parents are throwing a dinner in celebration, but they still don't know about her other news.

     “Roger,” I whine, flopping back on the bed.

     Roger wraps his hands around my ankles, “What’s the matter, love?” he asks, his thumb rubbing light circles against my calves.

     “None of my pants fit,” I sigh, propping myself up on my elbows.

     “Dress?” He asks, stretching his hand out to me. I grip his hands, letting him pull me to my feet. I shake my head, wrapping my arms around his neck. “PJs?” He whispers into my hair.

     “I am not going in my PJs,” I say, stretching up to press my lips against Roger’s, “it’s my graduation dinner.”

     “I think we’re going to have start telling people,” Roger murmurs, “and get you some new clothes.” My lips form into a pout, grumbling into Roger’s chest. “Love, you are nineteen weeks along, it’s time,” Roger whispers, placing a kiss against the top of my head.

     “I know,” I whine into his chest. I lean back, dropping onto the bed with a plop.

     Roger tugs on the bottom of my pants, “Up,” he commands. I raise my hips, letting his pull my pants all the way off, landing across the room. “We’re almost halfway there,” he says, sitting down next to me, pulling me to rest against his chest. “They’re going to be here before we know it,” he whispers, his hand falling to lay on my stomach. “Any guesses?”

     I hum, closing my eyes. “Boy,” I guess, part of me hoping for a little mini Roger. “You?” I ask, tilting my head to look up at him.

     “I think it’s a girl,” Roger counters.

     I laugh, “Heaven help us if it is,” I say, “I can’t imagine you reacting well to teenage boys flocking to the door for a date.”

     “Hmm, you’re not wrong about that, love,” he sighs. “But, that’s a long time away, right now we need to figure out how to get you to this dinner,” he sighs, looking over at the exploded mess that is our closet.

     I sigh, glancing over at the pile. “I have a dress that fits, it just makes me look pregnant.”

     Roger chuckles, the movement reverberating against his chest, “Love, you are pregnant,” he says.

     “Help me up,” I mutter. Roger pushes against my back, giving me enough leverage to swing forward. Digging through the pile, I pull out a deep blue cotton dress. I shed my shirt, tossing it at Roger. I let the fabric fall over my body, the fabric clinging to my stomach. “Well?” I ask, twirling in front of Roger.

     “Beautiful,” he whispers, stretching his hands out to me.

     I step towards him, letting him wrap me in his embrace. “Don’t look at me like that, that look is how this happened,” I whisper, looking down at him, brushing his bangs off his forehead.

     “You sure about that? Because I remember you being the one wanting to go back to the room when we could’ve stayed on the beach,” he says, quirking his eyebrow. “Then wanting to stay in the room all the next day too,” he adds, placing a chaste kiss to my lips. “We’ve got to head out if we want to make it to dinner,” he sighs, standing up, turning me around in his grip, and leading us out the door.

     “Be good, River,” I murmur, petting her head. Roger holds the front door open for me, pinching my butt as I walk by.

     “Roger!” I exclaim, swatting his chest with my purse.

     “You’re gonna be a great mother,” he declares, taking my hand in his. I smile at him, walking step in step with him.

     My parents house comes into view. I tug on Roger’s sleeve, pulling him to stop. “Rog,” I sigh, looking back over my shoulder.

     “This is going to be fine, they’re going to be thrilled,” he tells me, bringing my hands to his face, pecking kisses across the expanse of hands and wrists. “And if they aren’t, I’m right here, Freddie will always be by your side, the guys love you,” he says, moving his hands to hold the sides of my face, “Y/N, you will never be in this alone.”

     I inhale deeply, letting Roger’s words soak in. I move forward until we’re standing in front of the door, Roger’s hand raised to knock. “Just be ready to run,” I whisper, rocking back and forth on my heels.

    The door swings open, Freddie cheering, a drink in his hand. “You’re here!” He exclaims. Leaning over the threshold of the door, he pulls me into a hug, “What’s the signal if we’re making a run for it?” He whispers.

     “You’ll know it,” I respond, patting his back. He lets go, him and Roger moving into the house, blocking me from view. Cheering erupts as we venture farther into the house.

     “Where’s Y/N?” My mother calls.

     “Here,” I say, poking my head between Freddie and Roger’s shoulders. My mother rises from the dining table, leaving my father chatting with John and Veronica talking with two of my aunts.

     “Well, come here, let me see my baby, the college graduate,” she coos, stretching her arms out.

     I rest my hands on Freddie and Roger’s shoulders, pushing myself up. “I need to tell you guys something,”

     “I told you, she didn’t graduate, she’s been running around to concerts and working at that store,” my father mutters, shaking his head.

     “No, no, I did graduate, here’s my diploma,” I say, grabbing the paperwork out of purse. My mother snatches it out of my hand, leaning closely to inspect the paper.

     She raises her gaze, “Well, then what could you possibly need to tell us,” she scoffs. “Can you please get over here, hiding behind your brother like you’re a child again,” she says, tugging at Freddie’s arm.

     The front door opens and closes, Brian and Chrissie walking through, a large present box in Brian’s arms. “Hey guys, sorry we’re late,” he calls, peering over the box. “Holy hell, Y/N, you’re pregnant,” he exclaims, dropping the box to the floor. I slam my eyes shut, counting to ten, waiting for the blowup.

     “Oh my,” my mother mutters. I crack one eye open, her arms hitting at Freddie to move. He shoots me an apologetic glance then slides to the side, exposing me, and my prominent belly to the entire dining room, my father’s gaze quickly dropping to the table. My mother steps forward, her eyes glued to my stomach.

     Roger moves in front of me, acting as a barrier between my mother and I. “Uhm, so remember when I wasn’t feeling well, and you told me to go to the doctor, well, they ran some tests,” I ramble, stepping out from behind Roger. “I’m nineteen weeks along,” I say, my hands resting on my stomach.

     “You’re engaged,” she gasps as she grabs my hand, inspecting the ring. “Next you’re going to tell me that you already got married,” she mutters, shaking her head.

     “Not yet, we’re going to wait until after the baby comes, I mean, I’m already showing and I don’t really want to have to leave the back of a wedding dress open to be able to fit in it,” I explain, my mother staying silent. I shake my hand out of her grip. “Are you breathing?” I question, peering at her, unblinking, “Mama?”

     “I’m going to be grandmother,” she whispers, her smile growing.

     “What?” Freddie and I both exclaim at the same time.

     “Congrats, you two, Rog, I never thought you’d be the first one of us to settle down, a fiance and a baby on the way,” Brian says, patting Roger on the back. “And congratulations to you, Miss University Graduate,” Brian says, pulling me into a side hug.

     “I can’t believe you hid it for this long, I saw you last week,” Chrissie whispers, looping her arm through mine, leading me to an empty chair in the dining room.

     Freddie scoffs, “Well, I knew, one hug was all it took,” he explains. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for his reasoning. “You eat like a bird, there’s no way you gained weight, pregnancy was the only explanation,” he states simply, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

     “And it took point five seconds for you to figure that out?” Roger questions, shaking his head, his hands resting on my shoulders, lightly massaging the tense muscles.

     “Quick as a bullet, this one,” Mary cheerfully says, taking the seat next to Freddie. He leans over and kisses her cheek, whispering something in her ear. “So, any idea for names yet?” Mary asks, Freddie smiling as the words leave her mouth.

     “Hmm, maybe Gold or Lead, start a new family trend,” I suggest. Roger chuckles, bending down to place a kiss to my cheek.

     “Never,” he mutters, placing another peck on my cheek.


	30. August 5th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pregnancy is now 26 weeks along and Roger is finally available to attend an appointment.

     Rustling outside the door draws my attention. I push myself off the bed, my hand resting against my back to support the growing weight. I enter the living room, taking in the sight of Roger and John collapsed on couch, giggling like a couple of drunk school girls. Clearing my throat, Roger and John’s heads whip around to face me. “Sorry, we tried not to wake you,” he whispers, reaching his hands out to me.

     I shuffle towards him, sitting on the arm of the couch, his arms wrapping behind my back. “Wasn’t you, this little bugger has the same passion for keeping a beat that you do,” I chuckle, placing my hand on my stomach. “How was today?” I ask, combing my fingers through his hair, matted from the heat.

     He catches my hand, holding it in his, gently kissing the back of my hand. “We’re almost done, at least what we can do without Brian,” he whispers.

     “How is he doing?” I ask, curious how his at home recovery is coming after being released from the hospital a few days ago. Roger’s attention is fading, his eyes losing their focus.

     I turn my attention to John, his blinks obviously forced. “Better, he should be good to go next week,” John quietly answers, toying with the loose strings on the hem of his shirt. “Be nice to have him back, his hair’ll absorb the extra moisture in the air,” John chuckles, his head lolling to the side, a hiccup escaping his lips.

     I laugh into my hand, trying to conceal the noise. “God, he’s sloshed,” I whisper, tugging myself from Roger’s loosening grip. Moving around the furniture, I step into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle off the counter and holding it under the facet, letting the metal container fill with water. Shuffling across the room, the kettle lands on the stove with a dull ringing, steam quickly beginning to rise out of the spout. Pouring the hot liquid into three mugs, I carefully carry them into the living room, setting them on the coffee table.

     I tug on Roger’s shirt, lightly jostling his body. He stirs awake, his long eyelashes fluttering with each slow blink. “Hey,” you say quietly, waiting for him to sit completely upright before handing him the mug. “I made you tea.”

     “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” he remarks, voice still heavy with sleep.

     Shaking my head lightly, I sip on my tea, watching Roger over the rim of the mug. “You promised you’d take me to the appointment today, remember?” I whisper, my eyes glancing to John’s sleeping form. Roger’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “The checkup?”

     “Shit,” Roger mutters as his eyes shut, his finger coming to rub at the bridge of his nose. “When?”

     I glance at my watch. “Thirty minutes,” I respond.

     “Why’d you make such an early morning appointment?” He groans, letting his head fall back against the couch.

     I chuckle, pushing myself off the couch. “Knew it’d be easier to keep you up for an hour than trying to get you out of bed after lunch.”

     Roger smiles up at me, intertwining his hand with mine. “Just further proof that my fiancé is a genius,” he whispers, pulling me towards him.

     I lean over, kissing Roger’s forehead. “Baby, if anyone in the room is a genius, it’s Mr. Engineer over there,” I murmur, taking Roger’s empty tea mug from his hand. “Are you ready to go?”

     “Yeah, just give me a minute,” he groans, pushing himself up off the couch. He shuffles past me, into the bedroom, the sound of running water filling the room. Grabbing a notepad off the table, I scribble a quick note to John, letting him know where we’ve gone, but that he’s more than welcome to stay.

     “Ready, love?” Roger asks, his keys dangling from his fingers. I set the note on the table, turning around and following Roger out the door. He quietly closes it behind me. Standing at the edge of the stairs, he offers me his hand and support as we descend the stairs. “Okay?” He asks, his grip loosening.

     “Great, baby, besides not being able to see my toes anymore,” I chuckle, resting my hands on my belly as Roger unlocks the car.

     “Any more name ideas yet?” I ask, twirling my hair around my index finger.

     Roger drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “For a boy, Jasper,” he declares, turning his head slightly to look at me, “For a girl, Irsia.”

     I gasp slightly, turning to face him more. “Where did you hear that name?”

     “Called your mom,” Roger nonchalantly shrugs. “It means-”

     “Rainbow,” I finish for him, smiling at his thoughtfulness. “I love it,” I sigh, patting his thigh, letting my hand rest there. I slide closer, laying my head on his shoulder. “But I still think it’s going to be a boy,” I murmur, placing a kiss to his clothed shoulder. “Jasper Bulsara-Taylor,” I say, the name feeling foreign on my tongue. “I don’t know, what about Dominic?”

     "Dominic Bulsara-Taylor,” Roger says, rocking his head from side to side in contemplation. “Don’t hate it,” he shrugs. “Alexander?” He asks, his eyes meeting mine for a brief second.

     I pick my head up, thinking about it. “Hmm, Alex Taylor,” I respond, Roger’s eyes narrowing. “Don’t give me that look, you know no one is actually going to include Bulsara in his name, it’s just important to me that it’s there,” I explain, spinning my ring. Roger’s hand comes to rest on mine, stopping my nervous fiddling. “We need to get a crib soon, and other stuff.”

     “I know, love, but there’s plenty of time,” he reassures me, taking the key out of the ignition.

     “Fourteen weeks,” I say, the days counting down in my mind at all times of the day and night. “You might be gone,” I remind him, Queen technically on tour during the last few weeks of my pregnancy.

     “We’ve talked about this, love, I will drive like a madman to get to the hospital, I will not miss it, I don’t care where we’re performing, I will be there,” he promises, placing a chaste kiss to my lips, pulling away and locking eyes with me. “Any chance you’ll be early though? Like before we leave?” He asks, glancing down at my swollen belly.

     I shake my head, scooting away from Roger, towards the door. “Doubt it, first time pregnancies usually last longer than others,” I tell him, pushing the heavy door open. Roger races out of the car, holding my door all the way open, his hand extended to me to brace myself. The door shuts with a loud thud, Roger’s hand moving from mine to rest against my back, gently guiding me to the hospital doors.

     We wind down the hallways, making our way to the maternity ward. “Y/N Bulsara,” I tell the receptionist, signing the form placed in front of me. She steps away from the desk, leading us to a room, instructing me to change into a gown. A quick knock on the door echoes through the small room just as Roger finishes tying the back of the paper gown.

     Dr. Wells enter the room, quickly taking a seat on her stool. “Hello, Y/N,” she greets, smiling at us. “And you must be Roger, the father,” she continues, extending her hand to him. He returns the gesture. Dr. Wells pulls on a pair of plastic gloves, scooting over the exam table, gesturing for me to lay back. “Well, you are more than halfway there, how are you feeling?” She asks as she gently pressing on my stomach, moving across the expanse of my exposed skin.

     “Exhausted, they started kicking a few days ago and haven’t stopped since,” I tell her, rolling my head to the side as she continues her exam, Roger staying up by my head, his hand stroking my hair.

     She chuckles, her gloves snapping as she removes them. “Just getting used to the new ability, it should die down in a few days once the little one discovers another new talent,” she assures me. “Do either of you have any questions?”

     Roger helps me sit up, supporting my back. “Is there a way to induce labor early?” I ask. “Roger leaves for tour on October 30th, and I know that I’m only twenty six weeks, but how much bigger exactly am I going to get?”

     “It’s not recommended, every week counts, but if the pregnancy starts becoming unbearably uncomfortable, there are stretches I can give you a packet on, castor oil, spicy food, other physical activities,” she says, turning around and grabbing paper off the counter. “As you know, pregnancies are typically physically harder on someone of your stature,” she says as she hands me the packets. “Anything else?” she asks. I shake my head, looking back at Roger who also shakes his head. “Feel free to call if anything comes up, if not, I will see you in September for your next check up,” Dr. Wells says, excusing herself from the room.

     Roger carefully helps me off the exam table, untying the dressing gown. I grab my dress from his hand, slipping it over my head. His hands fall to my shoulder, gently massaging the tense muscles. Holding back a moan, I lean into his touch, his hair tickling the tops of my ears. “I know you’re stressed about being alone during this,” he murmurs. I twist out of his grip, turning around and wrapping my arms around his waist. “Say the word and I’ll back out of the tour,” he whispers into my hair. “And don’t say I can’t,” he says as a raise my head in protest. “You’re the love of my life and I would give up everything to be a family with you and that little one you’re carrying.”

     “I don’t want you to have to give up anything,” I murmur, tightening my grip.

     Roger carefully pushes me away from his body, grabbing my chin and lifting it to make me look at him. “Think of all the sleepless nights you’ve had just so that you could see me perform, the shit you’ve put up with because of the guys, the shit you’ve put up with me,” he says, holding my gaze. “Love is all about sacrifices,” he whispers, kissing me deeply, his hands falling to my back and pulling me flush against him. “You’ve made more than enough for me for a lifetime, I promise to do the same,” he murmurs against my lips.


	31. September 15th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The album's almost done and Roger can't wait to be done to be able to spend all day at home with a very pregnant Y/N, but he still has more hours to put in before he can do that. During her days alone, Y/N has been doing the stretches and activities to try and ensure the baby will be born before Roger leaves on tour.
> 
> Mentions of screaming, blood, death, and just overall angst overload.

     “Anytime you need to reach me, call me here, they know to come find me,” Roger repeats, his hands resting on my knees.

     “I’ll be fine, Rog,” I assure him, patting his hands.

     He sighs deeply, taking my hands in his. “You’re thirty two weeks, they’ll be here soon,” he says, as if I’m not aware of how pregnant I am, not like there’s a huge belly every time I look down. Roger leans closer, pressing his lips to my stomach through my dress. “You have to be good for your mother’s sake, you know?” Roger whispers, placing another gently kiss to my plump belly, “I won’t be here all the time, I wish I could be, so you have to watch out for her.”

     “Rog, you’re going to be late, again,” I say, curving my hand around his jaw.

     “I’ll be home as soon as I can, and I’ll call every break,” he says, standing up.

     I shake my head, pointing my index finger at him. “Don’t you dare, I’m going to try and get a nap in,” I tell him, the circles under my eyes growing noticeably with each passing night. Roger steps back, his hands resting on his hips, his head tilted. “What?”

     “You look different,” he states, narrowing his eyes.

     I let my head drop back, huffing in annoyance. “Damn it, you can tell,” I sigh, lifting my head back up to look at Roger, confusion written across his face. “The doctor gave this special bra I’m supposed to wear from now on,” I say, fiddling with the strap of the garment hidden under my sweatshirt.

     “Oh, don’t worry love, it’s not obvious, I’m just intimately familiar with,” he says, gesturing to my chest.

     I snort, in shock that Roger is suddenly unable to talk about my body, having never had a shy tongue before. “What, Roger, my breasts?” I tease, “River got your tongue?”

     “It doesn’t feel right talking like that in front of the baby,” he shrugs, slipping on his sunglasses.

     I laugh at him, stretching my hands out. “They won’t remember anything they hear for a while,” I remind him as he wraps his hands around my arms and pulls me up off the couch. Roger pulls me to him, swaying a bit, humming under his breath.

     “You say that now, but that little bean is going to come out crying Queen songs,” he murmurs.

     “God help me if they do,” I respond, stretching up to kiss the tip of Roger’s nose. Roger rolls his eyes, kissing the top of my head.

     “I’m serious, call,” he says, holding my gaze. I nod, releasing my grip on him. “Love you,” he whispers, gently kissing my lips.

     I grab the hair at the base of his neck, holding him to me. “Love you, too,” I murmur, kissing his lips again. “You have to go,” I sigh, releasing him from my grip. Moving away, I open the door, holding it open for him. Hesitantly, he walks through it, glancing over his shoulder as he moves down the stairs.

     Sighing, I close the door and retreat to the bedroom, carefully lowering myself onto the bed, leaning back against the stacked pillows, the only position that feels manageable at this point. Closing my eyes, I try to drift off to sleep, but like lately it doesn’t come. I inhale deeply, pushing myself off the bed, swinging my feet off the side. The wood is cool against the flats of my feet, sending a shiver up my spine. I pad into the bathroom, turning on the shower, the steam quickly filling the room. Stripping off my clothes, I step into the shower, the warm water hitting my skin making a slight moan escape from the back of my throat, followed by a deep groan, my hands falling to clutch at my stomach. Staggering backwards, I shut off the water. I grab my towel, wrapping it around my body, the fabric barely covering more than my breasts. Another wave of pain shoots through my body, my hand shooting out to grasp the wall. Forcing myself forward, I fall to the bed, grabbing the phone off the bedside table, punching in the number Roger made me repeat until I had it memorized.

     Static echoes through the line, cut off by a light high pitched cough. “Hello?” A woman’s voice answers.

     “I need Roger Taylor,” I say in between heavy breaths.

     Shuffling on the other end fills my ear while I force myself to breathe to a steady beat. “Y/N, love, are you okay?” Roger asks, clearly out of breath.

     “In pain, hard to breathe, might be labor, son of a fu-”

     “I’m on the way,” he rushes out, yelling in the background cutting through his words.

     “Don’t you dare die trying to get here too quickly,” I yell into the phone, but my words are blocked out by the disconnect beep. I push myself up on the bed, focusing on my breathing. “FU-OW, OW, OW,” I scream as loud as my lungs will let me. A light knock on the door draws my attention. Using all my force, I try to push myself off the bed, but can’t seem to get the right amount of leverage. “Hello?” I call out.

     “Dear, are you okay?” A voice calls through the door, one I place as the retired lady from across the hall.

     “Labor!” I scream in between heavy breaths. The door slams open, the little lady pushing through the door frame, worry etched into every crease of her face. As she gets closer, her expression gets increasingly more and more startled. “Hi,” I breathe, resting my hand on my stomach.

     A silent prayer is muttered as she does the sign of the cross against herself. “We need to get you to the hospital,” she declares, reaching her hands out to me.

     I shake my head, keeping my hands protectively on my stomach. “Roger’s on his way,” I mutter, letting myself fall backwards to rest my back.

     The little lady comes around to the side of the bed, pushing at my shoulders. “We need to go now, dear,” she insists, pulling me up to a seated position again.

     “Why? Labor's supposed to last hours,” I sigh, letting her use gravity to pull me up off the bed completely. Once I’m completely off the bed, a wave of dizziness hits me, forcing me to sit back down.

     A crash in the living room makes me perk up my head, Roger’s voice carrying through the small apartment. “Y/N, I’m here, why is the door open?” He calls, still out of view. He finally steps into the bedroom, his face dropping once he sees me. “Holy-blood,” Roger mutters, his keys falling from his hands.

     “What?” I ask, shaking my head. Reaching my hand past my stomach, I swipe at the leg of my pants. Red stains my hand when I pull it back up, the smell now so putrid I wonder how I didn’t smell it before. “What’s wrong? Why am I bleeding?” I ask, my breathe speeding up.

     “She needs to get to the hospital, now,” our neighbor declares, swiping Roger’s keys from the ground.


	32. September 16th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Labor comes sooner than expected and with complications to boot.
> 
> Mentions of hospitals, drugs, death, and guilt

     Sirens and screams fill my ears, distracting me from the feeling of my body being lifted into the air. “Female patient, twenty one years old, thirty two weeks pregnant, signs of internal bleeding and complications with fetus,” a doctor yells out as he shines a bright light into my eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but the words get lost on their way out, dying with a whimper.

     “Love, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” Roger murmurs in my ear. I fumble around, my hand searching for his. He grips my hand tightly, bringing it to his lips as he mutters against my skin.

     “We have to take her,” the doctor asserts as we enter a room, the passing sight of a door frame alerting me.

     “Roger,” I cry, tightening my grip on his hand, the hardened calluses on his palms reassuring me he’s still here.

     “Miss, husbands wait outside,” one of the nurses says, gesturing for Roger to exit.

     “Fiancé, not husband,” I murmur, my head lolling to the side, the floral pattern of Roger’s shirt flooding my vision. “Roger, if you leave me here alone, I will kill you,” I mutter, my eyes closing as another wave of nausea floods my senses.

     “Stay or don’t, we have to do something now,” a muffled voice declares. The sound of ripping clothing and metal being shuffled around echoes off the walls of the small room. Cool liquid hits my skin, making me jump as much as I can in my current state. In my ear, I can hear only of the promises Roger is murmuring over and over. Hands fly in front of my face, placing a hard plastic mask over my mouth and nose, an overwhelming sweet scent filling my nose. Everything around me starts fading away, the beeping of the machines seemingly lulling me to sleep.

...

     A gentle hand strokes my face carefully, drawing me from my sleep. Spots of black fill my vision as my eyes flutter open, months of exhaustion begging for my eyes to just stay shut. Roger’s face comes into view, his cheeks glistening under the lights. I raise my hand to his face, letting my fingers wipe away the wetness that has fallen from his red rimmed eyes. “Hi, baby,” I murmur, leaning further into his touch as he does mine, more tears now flowing freely from his eyes. “Baby?”

     “Let me go get the doctor,” a nurse says, stepping out from behind Roger.

     “Roger, what’s going on?” I ask, trying to sit up, quickly failing from lack of strength.

     An older man enters the room, wearing a stark white doctor’s coat, his hands filled with folders. He stops just before the edge of the small hospital bed, his eyes locking with mine. “Miss Bulsara, I’m Doctor Telling, I was the lead doctor in your labor this morning,” he says, his voice soft and low.

     The sunlight peaking through the blinds catches my eye, my brain still foggy. “What time is it?” I croak.

     “Half past twelve,” Doctor Telling answers, moving closer to the window, tugging the string and closing them completely. “You’ve been resting for a few hours, which I expected more quite honestly after such a rough labor,” he says, moving back to stand near my bed, his eyes flickering to the monitors on either side of me. “Your file only showed one fetus heartbeat on record,” he says, glancing down at the files in his hands, his knuckles white from his grip on the plastic clipboard containing them, “but that can sometimes be the case when twins’ heartbeats match each other’s.”

     My jaw drops, turning to Roger for confirmation, but Roger’s eyes remain forward on Doctor Telling. I turn my attention back to Doctor Telling. “Twins?” I ask, my monitor beeping as my heartbeat speeds up. “Can I see them?”

     Doctor Telling’s gaze drops. “Unfortunately, only one survived, a baby girl, while your son,” he says, his words fading away. The only proof that my heart didn’t stop right then and there was the beeping echoing in my ears. “Miss Bulsara?” Doctor Telling asks, forcing my focus back on him.

     “Can I see her?” I ask, already ripping the band around my arm off, freeing myself from the incessant beeping.

     Doctor Telling nods, gathering his folders. “Of course, there’s a wheelchair right here for you, and your fiancé can show you the way,” he says before he leaves the room.

     “You’ve already seen her?” I ask, turning up to look at Roger.

     “Once they got her settled in the nursery,” he says, offering me his hand to help me out of bed. I slide into the wheelchair, gladly accepting the blanket from Roger’s extended hand. Roger grips the handles of the wheelchair, steering me down the hallway and to the elevator. He presses the down button, the door slowly creaking open.

     The doors slowly close behind us. “Roger?” I whimper, reaching my hand back towards him. He quickly grabs it, holding it so tightly if I was in a proper head space I’d worry about losing circulation, but at the moment his grip may very well be the only thing keeping me together. Using his other hand, Roger steers us down the hall, stopping in front of a large glass window, just low enough that I can peak into the room from my seated position.

     “They’re so tiny,” Roger murmurs, watching intently as the newborns moved inside each of their own little beds. “That’s her, Irsia Bulsara-Taylor” he says, pointing at an enclosed bassinet in the back row, wires protruding from the case and flowing onto the ground below it. I lean closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her tiny chest.

     “It’s my fault, I was being selfish, I didn’t want to do it alone so I rushed it, if I had just rested and waited I could’ve held out longer,” I whisper, not daring to tear my gaze from the small baby in front of us.

     Roger tugs the wheelchair, forcing me to face him. “Love, no, don’t you dare put this on yourself,” he sighs, “it was nothing you did or didn’t do, the doctor said these things happen.”  
“‘These things happen’? Our son died!” I yell, drawing the attention of the few people scattered throughout the hall.

     “I know!” He explodes back. His expression softens, dropping to his knees in front of me, reaching out and taking my hands in his. “I know,” he whispers, “they wouldn’t even let me hold him.”

     “Did-Was-How,” I mumble, unsure of what to even ask. Roger just leans forward, capturing my shaking body in a hug, his lips glued to my forehead. 


	33. October 29th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irsia is now six weeks old and life in the Bulsara-Taylor household will never be the same.
> 
> THIS IS A LONG AND TOUGH CHAPTER, you've been warned.  
> ANGST, crying, yelling, depression, just my usual sh*t I guess.

     Irsia’s cry startles me awake, my hand instinctively going to cradle her closer to me, but the space beside me is empty. I shoot up, throwing off my blanket, searching the bed for her. Scrambling out of bed, I land on the floor with a thump. Roger races into the room, Irsia bundled up in his arms, now sleeping softly. A sigh of relief leaves my mouth, my hand resting on my still slightly swollen stomach.

     “Love?” Roger asks, standing at the end of the bed, rocking back and forth to keep Irsia asleep.

     “I’m fine, fine,” I mumble, grabbing the bed and pulling myself up off the floor. Sliding back under the covers, I pull the cover up to my neck.

     Roger steps closer, standing at the edge of the bed. “Fred’s here,” Roger murmurs.

     I roll over, pulling the cover even tighter around my neck. “Why?” I mumble into the thick fabric.

     “Wanted to stop by, check up on,” Roger sighs, pausing on his words, “things.”

     I scoff, pressing my face into my pillow, “On me, you mean,” I mutter. “Just tell him I’m fine, that I’m sleeping,” I say. “Roger, please.”

     “Okay, love, get some rest, I’ll bring in some food later,” Roger sighs, the bed creaking as he gets off the bed. The door shuts quietly behind him, leaving me in silence. I roll over, my eyes landing on the ceiling fan, the blades moving slowly. The light peaking through the window slowly descends, all the light finally gone, making it impossible to trace the blades of the fan with my eyes. I roll over, blindly reaching for my water on the bedside table. My fingers clasp around a bottle, the pills inside rattling. Sighing, I push myself up, swinging my legs of the bed. I twist off the cap to the bottle, pulling two pills out and gulping down a swig of water. My feet search for the soft fabric of my slippers, sliding them on my feet. Staggering towards the door in search of food, my hand rests on the door knob.

     “I don’t know what to do, she needs me, but the tour,” Roger says, his voice muffled by the door. There’s light murmuring, then Roger’s voice creeps under the door again. “You head out, I’ll be outside in a second,” he says.

     I stumble backwards, landing on the edge of the bed, dropping my head to my hands. The door opens slightly, Roger poking his head in. “Love, gotta head out, we have practice,” Roger whispers, stepping into the room with Irsia in his arms, her hands reaching out to him. “I can stay if you want me to,” he murmurs, rocking her in his arms.

     “It’s fine, give her to me,” I say, opening my arms to him. He steps forward, hesitantly placing her in my arms. He sways in place, hovering over me. “You need to go,” I whisper, looking up at him.

     “Love,” he whispers.

     “Just go, Roger!” I explode, my gaze quickly dropping to Irsia, her eyes focused on Roger. I inhale deeply, “To practice, on tour, I can’t have you resenting me more than you already do, so just go,” I say, carefully pushing myself off the bed, Roger reaching out to help. I swat away his hands. “I’m leaving, I have my appointment with Doctor Wells,” I mutter, walking into the living room and out the front door, Freddie leaning against the wall.

     “Y/N?” Freddie asks, pushing himself off the wall.

     I shake my head, descending down the stairs. “Good luck today, Fred, can’t wait to hear how it goes,” I call behind me. Holding Irsia close to my chest, I land at the bottom step in record time, turning down the street towards the doctor’s office. Irsia coos at me, her hands reaching out to tug on my hair, gripping the strands between her tiny fingers. “Hi, baby girl,” I murmur, combing her hair off her forehead. “Did you have a good day with daddy and Uncle Freddie?” I whisper, shifting her in my arms. “I hope you did, it’s one of the last ones you’re going to have for a while,” I sigh, holding her close to me. “He’s leaving, he doesn’t want to, I don’t want him to, you don’t want him to, but he has to, your Uncle Freddie too,” I murmur, waiting for the street to be clear. Stepping off the curb carefully, I cross the street, stopping in front of the doctor’s office door, pushing it open with my foot.

     “Miss Bulsara?” The nurse asks, stepping out from behind the front desk. The blond makes a beeline for me, her gaze quickly dropping to Irsia.

     “Hey, Sara,” I respond, letting the door swing close behind me.

     Her manicured fingers carefully reach out, the back of her finger stroking Irsia’s cheek. “She’s beautiful,” she murmurs, almost humming. “Her eyes are breathtaking.”

     I chuckle, looking down at the baby blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, fluttering with each curious glance around the room. “She has her father to thank for those,” I say, thinking back to the first time I ever met Roger and how taken back I was by his eyes, among everything else.

     “Her hair is all you though,” Sara chuckles, raising her posture to stand straight up, now looking at me.

     “Yeah, I’m sure she’s going to be yelling at me about that when she’s older,” I muse.

     Sara’s arm stretches out, resting on my free forearm. “How are you?”

     “Better everyday,” I tell her through gritted teeth and a fake smile.

     “That’s good,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping again. “Anyway, Doctor Wells is ready to see you, room two,” she says, moving away to hold open the door. I step through, my slippers clicking against the tile, as compared to the carpet in the waiting room. I enter the open room, taking a seat in the open seat.

     “Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Doctor Wells greets, quietly shutting the door behind me.

     “You too,” I say, shifting Irsia in my arms to lay back in both my arms.

     Doctor Wells sighs, setting her files on the counter next to her. “I’m going to ask the usual question, but I want the truth, not what you’ve been telling everyone else just to get them to stop asking,” she says, her eyes piercing through the strong front I’ve been putting up. “How are you?”

     “I can’t do it,” I sob, tightening my grip on my baby asleep in my arms. “I barely get out of bed, I couldn’t even bare to touch her until last week,” I continue, my body starting to shake.

     Doctor Wells extends a box of tissues out to me. “And now you’re taking her on outings with you,” she says, “that means you’re healing, I’m proud of you, and you should be too.”

     “Part of me wishes they hadn’t told me,” I whisper, a lone tear racing down my cheek and landing on Irisia’s onesie.

     Doctor Wells sighs, scooting closer in her chair, her hand landing on my knee. “What you went through is no easy thing to say the least and here you are, still standing, no matter how much you think you’re shaking, you are still standing,” she murmurs.

     “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this alone,” I murmur, my eyes trained on Irsia’s moving behind her eyelids as she dreams. “Roger and Fred are leaving on tour.”

     “Your parents?” Doctor Wells says.

     I sigh, shaking my head lightly. “I don’t know if I can do that,” I say. “I’ve been having Roger keep my mom away from me, I just know that I’m going to take one look at her and be five years old again with a scraped knee.”

     “You don’t think it’d help? To have your mom do what she did then, kiss it better, just be there while you get better?” She says, scooting back and grabbing papers off the counter top. “I’ll be honest, I don’t think you should be alone,” she says, handing me pamphlets, housing for single mothers on the top.

     “I know,” I sigh, clutching the papers in my hand. I stand up, repositioning Irsia to rest her head against my collarbone, freeing my left hand. “Thank you, I’ll call to schedule my next appointment, have a good night,” I say, rushing out of the room and the office, only stopping when I see the neon lights of the store. The door chimes as I push on it, the bells above it jingling. I wander down the aisle, stopping at the refrigerated section, removing a bottle of pop from the case.

     “Y/N?” A voice calls. I spin around, seeing Trevor, one of the new employees leaning on the checkout counter.

     “Hey, Trevor,” I greet, walking up to the counter.

     He glances at me, taking in my attire and the sleeping baby on my chest. “You aren’t working tonight, are you?”

     “No, but you know I’m always upstairs if you need me,” I say, setting a few coins on the counter and grabbing the bottle.

     “Yeah, no, I just-” he scrambles, dropping the coins from his unsteady hands to the ground with a clatter.

     “I’ll see you later, Trevor,” I say, turning and leaving. The moon is high in the sky, the large white orb illuminating the night as I ascend the stairs up to the apartment.

     “Love,” Roger says, startling me. My hand moves along the wall, searching for the light switch. The lamp flicks on, Roger’s hand resting on the neck of it.

     “Roger,” I sigh, moving past the living room and into the kitchen. Roger’s shoes click against the tile as he follows me. “What are you doing here?”

     “We wrapped up practice early, wanted to come home,” he sighs, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. I shrug him off, moving to open the fridge and set the pop inside, the glass of the bottle clinking against the tile. I turn around, moving Irsia off my chest and holding her out to Roger. She immediately curls into his embrace, never waking. “How was your appointment?” He asks, lightly rocking back and forth.

     “Fine,” I mutter, moving past him. I keep moving until I hit the edge of the bed, crawling under the covers.

     “Fine, like how you’re fine?” Roger asks, hovering by my side of the bed.

     “Yes, Roger, fine,” I mutter, rolling away from him.

     Roger walks around, sitting on his side of the bed, placing Irsia on her pillow between us. “Y/N, please talk to me,” he begs, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair.

     I pull away from him, recoiling at his touch. “What am I supposed to say? That I can’t get out of bed because the thought of him hurts too much, but I have this beautiful baby girl that needs me, and I can’t be there for her because it hurts too much,” I cry, my tears soaking into my pillow.

     Roger straightens up, crossing his arms across his chest. “You think I’m not hurting?” He whispers.

     I sigh, looking up at him, his eyes cold and staring straight ahead. “No, I know you are too, but you didn’t carry him inside of you for months, not even knowing, only to be woken up and told that my son is dead,” I say, my sadness shifting to anger.

     Roger climbs off the bed, tearing off him jacket. “That’s it, I’m not going, fuck the tour,” he declares, reaching for his over packed suitcase.

     “I won’t let you do that,” I whisper, pushing myself up, leaning back against the headboard.

     “Let? It’s my decision,” he argues, his voice raising in volume, but dropping in pitch.

     “One that you’re making because you feel guilty!” I scream, forgetting about Irsia. Her cries cut through the room. I scoop her into my arms, rocking her back to sleep. Her cries die into cooing as she falls back asleep in my arms. “Roger, please just go to Fred or Brian or John’s place, she, I, we both need to get used to you not being here,” I say, halting Roger’s actions at unpacking.

     Roger’s face drops, as well as the coat in his hand. “You want me to get out?” Roger murmurs, his mouth staying open.

     “I can’t look at you!” I croak. My head drops as I try to will the tears to stay in my eyes. “Every time I see you, I see him, what could’ve been and I can’t do this anymore, not right now,” I say, shaking my head. Roger watches me for a moment, his face remaining still before he slumps out of the room, the front door closing quietly then opening again. I let my head fall back against the headboard, Roger is nothing if not stubborn.

     “What is wrong with you?” Freddie asks. I raise my head, my eyebrows furrowing.

     “Freddie?” I ask, blinking to make sure I’m seeing properly. After a few tries, my brother’s form doesn’t disappear. “Please go home, I’m fine, I just wanna be alone right now,” I sigh.

     “And I don’t think it’s smart for you to be alone and you don’t want Roger here, so I’m staying,” he says, moving across the room and sitting where Roger had been minutes before.

     “You have a show tomorrow,” I remind him, surprised he’s able to think of anything, but the first show for the new tour.

     He hushes me, “And that’s tomorrow and today’s still today,” he says, reaching over to take Irsia from my arms. He hums lightly, patting her back to match the rhythm. “Mary’s coming to stay with you tomorrow,” he says quietly.

     “She can’t miss the first show,” I murmur, my eyes getting heavy.

     “She can and she’s going to,” he murmurs, continuing to play gently against Irsia’s back.


	34. November 19th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WIP
> 
> Roger is home on a two day break

     “Wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” Roger signs, toying with the strands of my hair on this chest.

     “I know,” I sigh, curling further into his embrace.


	35. December 25th, 1974

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WIP
> 
> Irsia's first Christmas.

WRITING TO COME


	36. January 18th, 1975

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WIP 
> 
> John and Veronica's wedding brings everyone together as the band takes a short break to celebrate.

WRITING TO COME


End file.
